


Attitude

by Red3684 (lildropofmagic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildropofmagic/pseuds/Red3684
Summary: If there's one thing that Theodore Nott knows, it's that purebloods are superior to others in all aspects of life: he's been taught so his entire life. When Hermione Granger signs up for magical ballet classes alongside him in Third Year - an artform that's traditionally pureblood-only - he has no idea that she's about to smash his beliefs to pieces.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter world.
> 
> A couple of things to note:
> 
> 1) Though it may sound like it, this is not a crack!fic
> 
> 2) You do not need to be a ballet expert (or really know much about ballet at all) to read this fic.

Hermione Granger read so many astonishing and mind-altering facts about her new school the first time she looked through  _ Hogwarts: A History, _ that the small paragraph mentioning that magical ballet was offered as an extracurricular struck her as only mildly interesting compared to ghosts, brewing actual potions and a thousand-year-old enchanted castle. In fact, in the wake of her engrossing first months at her school, she had entirely forgotten about the dance classes that were open to third-year students and above. 

It was only when she picked up her favourite book again during the Easter holidays for a bit of casual reading, that she came across the passage once more and her interest was piqued. She considered going in search of the dance classroom when lessons resumed to see just what magical ballet involved, but then her revision for the upcoming exams kicked in and there was still the worrying business of the Philosopher’s Stone occupying her mind. 

When there were just a few days left until the all-important exams were set to take place, Hermione’s desire to know more about Hogwarts’ take on dancing was satisfied when the ballet students put on an end of year performance for the rest of the school. Some of the other Gryffindors grumbled about having to sit through the show – Harry and Ron, in particular – but (despite the fact that it took her away from her revision for a couple of hours) Hermione was looking forward to it. She had, like many girls her age, taken ballet lessons for a year or two when she was younger, and her mother had even taken her to London to see a performance of The Nutcracker by The Royal Ballet for a special treat one Christmas, so she wasn’t completely ignorant of the discipline. 

The Great Hall was transformed for the event: a grand stage was set up in the place of the teachers’ table and rows of seating replaced the four long house tables. It was obviously an important occasion as Hermione saw lots of guests were invited to the event, and she was sure she even saw a couple of ghosts she’d never seen before float past to take their seats. 

Once the lights in the Great Hall were dimmed, Hermione watched, enraptured, as the ballet began. The performance was in two halves. The first act was a narrative and the story was unfamiliar to Hermione, but this didn’t prevent her from taking in every moment of the spectacle. In essence, the dancing was very similar to muggle ballet but the storytelling was enhanced by magical effects: the leading male dancer performed a solo amongst twinkling stars and flowers grew through the stage floor during his duet with the lead ballerina. Hermione was impressed with the strength of the male dancers as they lifted their female partners with ease, but when she saw one ballerina lifted above a dancer’s head by nothing more than a single one of his fingers, she knew that enchantments had to have been used to make it possible. In the second half (a series of unconnected solos, duets and group dances that allowed different individuals to showcase their talents) this was particularly obvious during a duet between another pair of senior students whose feet didn’t touch the floor once as they danced in mid-air across the stage. It was such an exquisite sight that Hermione couldn’t be sure that she remembered to breathe during the entire piece.

The whole production was beautiful, really, and Hermione marvelled at how every single dancer was so graceful and poised. She must pass all the performers regularly in the school corridors but she didn’t really recognise any of them. Did performing ballet automatically transform you into an unrecognisable creature of beauty? 

Although they said they’d never be caught dancing themselves, Hermione could tell that Ron and Harry were impressed with what they’d seen. 

The other girls in Hermione’s dorm were much more open with their admiration as they pranced around the room and giggled over how handsome the male dancers were. 

Parvati attempted an extravagant pirouette and then flopped dramatically onto her bed with a loud sigh as Lavender laughed.

“It’s such a shame,” Parvati declared ruefully. “I wouldn’t even  _ consider _ taking ballet at Hogwarts.” 

Hermione looked up from her book in surprise. Given the way Parvati had been gushing about the performance for the last half an hour, Hermione was sure that the girl would be signing up in just over a year’s time. “Why not?” she asked, unable to stem her curiosity. 

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a quick look that had been common enough over the past months whenever Hermione had asked a question that they thought everyone knew the answer to. She knew that they didn’t mean to upset her when they did it, but it set her teeth on edge.

“Apparently, the dance teachers are  _ horrible _ ,” Parvati explained, “worse than Snape by  _ far _ !”

“Most students who sign up quit before they’ve completed their first year of training.” Lavender added.

“So you might get to wear the beautiful outfits at the end of the year but it doesn’t seem worth having to endure hours of practice every week while teachers rip you to shreds just to get you there,” Parvati said defeatedly.

“But they obviously get the best out of their students – they were all very impressive,” Hermione said.

“I didn’t say they’re not  _ good _ teachers,” Parvati pointed out. “I just don’t think all the blood, sweat and tears are worth it.” 

Lavender nodded in agreement but Hermione turned back to her book without another word. She may have only been acquainted with the girls for a few months but she already knew that hard work was a foreign concept to them. But, more accurately, the same was true of all of the Gryffindors in her year. Did they not understand how important it was to perform well in their end-of-year examinations? Hermione, for one, was not going to risk having to repeat the year, and her revision schedule made sure that she was going to be fully prepared to perform at her best.

And, a couple of weeks later, she was rewarded for her efforts by coming top of the year – even managing to score over one hundred percent in more than one subject. As wonderful as her results were, their importance paled in comparison to the successful efforts of herself, Ron and, particularly, Harry in stopping Voldemort from getting his hands on the Philosopher’s Stone. 

Her second year at Hogwarts turned out to be just as eventful as her first and even more dangerous. When she was restored from petrification thanks to the mandrake draft, it dawned on her that she’d escaped instant death only because of a little mirror. It was a rather alarming realisation amid the relief in being returned to consciousness. 

It was wonderful to see her friends again and hear how they’d managed to defeat the basilisk and the Heir of Slytherin, but she was mildly disappointed when Dumbledore announced the cancellation of the school exams for that year. However, after time to reflect, she concluded that it was probably for the best – she would’ve had to come up with a relentless revision regime to make sure she would’ve been able to study everything that she’d missed whilst petrified. 

Fortunately, the end of year dance performance was not cancelled. Once again, Hermione was mesmerised by the grace and skill on stage. This time, she knew her fellow students better and she recognised a few of them, but was struck by how the ballet posture and moves completely transformed them from the normal pupils she saw around school, and she wondered… could that be her?

She squashed the thought instantly as nothing more than a silly notion, but she couldn’t stop her imagination putting her on that stage, showcasing a grace she’d never been capable of before…

When Dumbledore led the plaudits at the end, praising the ballet dancers for their incredible performances and the teachers for their work in preparing the students, Hermione watched the two dance instructors closely. There was one man and one woman, and Hermione was quite sure she hadn’t seen them around the castle before, which was surprising considering she’d been there for nearly two years. Both instructors held themselves with such immaculate poise that Hermione was certain they must have been ballet dancers themselves when they were younger. Although streaks of silver ran through their hair, they were both still in incredible shape and strikingly handsome. There were wide but gracious smiles on their faces as Dumbledore thanked them for the hard work they had done in tutoring the students, and the pupils applauded their instructors enthusiastically, which struck Hermione as intriguing considering their harsh reputation. 

“And don’t forget, Second Years: your taster session of ballet will take place here, in the Great Hall, tomorrow afternoon,” Professor Dumbledore announced, much to Hermione’s astonishment. 

“Why didn’t I know about this?” she whispered to Harry and Ron as a thrill raced through her. 

Harry looked a little apologetic. “It’s been on the noticeboard for weeks. To be honest, we were hoping they’d cancel it,” he admitted as Ron nodded dejectedly.

Frustrated that she’d missed the announcement whilst petrified, Hermione quickly turned her attention back to Dumbledore. “I’m sure signor and signora Vittozzi are eager to discover what talents can be unearthed amongst you all,” he declared, eyes twinkling as he swept his gaze along the row of second year students. 

“I can’t believe we’re forced to take ballet for a day,” Ron grumbled on their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“A  _ whole _ day?” Hermione gasped. “That sounds very intense.”

Ron’s ears turned slightly red. “Well, it’s only for an hour actually…” he admitted. Hermione sent him an exasperated look for his over-exaggeration and he quickly added, “But it doesn’t matter how long I have to do it for – I know I don’t want to take up bloody  _ ballet _ .”

Hermione pressed her lips together, not willing to be drawn into an argument about it and instead tried to figure out how she was feeling at the prospect of taking part in a magical ballet lesson. She was obviously excited to try something that she was secretly so intrigued by, but she was also incredibly apprehensive that her ridiculous, tentative dream could be shot down so soon if it turned out she didn’t have the capability for the art. But what if she  _ did _ find that she enjoyed it and had potential? From what Parvati and Lavender told her last year, it sounded like ballet was not just a casual club to sign up to for a bit of fun – it would be something she had to be really committed to. And there was the rumoured harsh teaching style of the instructors as well. Hermione wasn’t used to teachers offering her criticism because she made sure she was as academically prepared for their lessons as possible. Ballet wasn’t something she could prepare for in the same way because it wasn’t just a question of her knowing what her body needed to do, it was whether she could actually get her body to  _ do _ it and do it  _ well _ . She knew she would have so much to learn to get to the standard of the ballet dancers she had seen, but how would she cope with receiving blunt critiques that apparently resulted in many students dropping out before their first year was complete? And then there was the added question of whether a commitment to ballet would impact on her academic performance. 

There was certainly a lot to think about and Hermione’s thoughts chased around her head all night and through to the next afternoon so that by the time she descended into the Great Hall, she was extremely tense and incredibly nervous. The training clothes that had appeared at the end of her bed when she woke that morning were not doing much for her confidence either. She was so used to the loose and sweeping robes everyone wore in the magical world that donning something that clung to her skin so tightly was rather unsettling. However, though it might just be her mind playing tricks on her, she felt that wearing the long-sleeved black leotard automatically made her posture more graceful and the silky, long skirt flowed nicely as she tried a little spin in her bedroom when no one else was looking. She, like all the other Gryffindors, had tied her normal cloak over herself for the walk down to the Great Hall (despite it being the beginning of summer) because none of them wanted to draw any attention to themselves. 

Hermione quickly scuttled out of the Common Room with Harry and Ron, but was too preoccupied with her thoughts to listen to their complaints about the outfits or Ron’s gratitude that he was able to get away from the tower before Fred or George caught him in the form-fitting trousers. 

The students huddled together in groups as they waited for the class to start. Most were still hiding under cloaks or robes but a few had shrugged off their outer garments and were standing in the middle of the Great Hall with an air of confidence that Hermione envied. There were a few older students there, too, that she recognised as being dancers from the previous day’s performance and she suspected they were there to help demonstrate the exercises in the class. 

Ron let out a low moan as he surveyed the scene. “Do you think if we just turn around they won’t notice that we didn’t attend?” he asked lowly. 

“I’m sure Malfoy would  _ love _ to point out that we skived off,” Harry muttered in an equally unenthusiastic tone.

Hermione glanced over at the blond boy and saw that he was one of the pupils already with his dance outfit on show and, if he  _ was _ uncomfortable in it, he wasn’t letting it show as his usual haughty expression was firmly in place. 

“You know, we  _ did _ just save the school from closure and defeat a bloody basilisk,” Ron whispered as they stood defensively at the side. 

“Are you suggesting that we’d be excused from taking part if we just asked nicely?” Harry questioned sceptically. 

Ron shrugged. “We won’t know if we don’t try.” 

A sudden hush descended over the Great Hall and the trio turned their heads to see what had triggered it. The ballet instructors – signor and signora Vittozzi – had arrived, stalking imperiously into the room, apparently completely at ease with all eyes on them. 

“Well, now’s your chance, Ron,” Hermione whispered. “They don’t look like the sort that will be  _ at all offended _ at a request to quit their class,” she said teasingly, not taking her eyes away from the proud-looking pair. 

“Ha, ha,” Ron retorted sarcastically under his breath as the ballet teachers reached the front of the room and turned around to survey the wary students before them, who seemed to be collectively holding their breath.

“Magical Ballet is only for the strongest and most talented amongst you,” signor Vittozzi declared in a voice with a strong Italian accent. “Even from the first step, it is not an easy path.”

“But the rewards of reaching the pinnacle of ballet can see you perform all over the world and revered by witches and wizards everywhere,” signora Vittozzi continued and Hermione blinked in surprise. She had been expecting another Italian accent but the signora sounded extremely English to Hermione’s ears. “Today you will discover if the potential for greatness and beauty lies within you.”

“I think I already know the answer to that,” Ron muttered grumpily. Hermione threw him a scandalised look for talking at the same time as the teachers, but she saw Harry fighting a grin and turned back to the front with a small, disapproving shake of her head. 

“Remove any outer garments you are still wearing,” signora Vittozzi instructed. “Girls on this side of the hall, boys to the other side with my husband. Quickly now,” she added sharply when her orders weren’t being carried out quick enough for her liking.

Hermione gave her friends a harried look, feeling the nervousness within her reach new heights. “Good luck,” she said quickly.

Harry nodded. “You too.”

“What do we need luck for when it’s something we don’t even want to do,” Ron grouched as he trudged away to the other side of the hall, Harry behind him. 

Hermione hurriedly undid the clasp on her cloak, rested it alongside all the other girls’ garments and rushed to find a place roughly in the middle so that she wasn’t at the front but wasn’t so far back that she couldn’t see what was going on. The middle was quite densely populated and only a few girls had attempted to hide towards the back. Looking forwards, Hermione was a little surprised to see Pansy and most of the other Slytherin girls ahead of her. In Hermione’s experience, she found that those particular girls showed little enthusiasm for their lessons but maybe ballet was of more interest to them.

Glancing over to the other half of the hall, Hermione saw that the Slytherin boys were mostly in front there, too. However, the rear of the hall was much more cluttered with reluctant boy dancers and, unsurprisingly, that’s where she caught a glimpse of Ron and Harry’s self-conscious figures.

A few older students moved through the girls, adjusting their positions slightly so they were more spaced out. They then held the tip of their wand to each girl’s palm and murmured an incantation that Hermione didn’t quite catch. Hermione looked at her hand suspiciously, wondering what spell had been enacted. As though in response to her thoughts, signora Vittozzi explained to them all, “The charm will give you the sensation of holding onto the barre as we go through our first exercises.” She swept her eyes over the hall and seemed satisfied with what she saw because she nodded quickly and then elegantly shifted her stance into what Hermione recognised from her previous ballet experience as first position.

Over the next half an hour, Hermione watched closely as signor and signora Vittozzi instructed them through a number of barre exercises. She was relieved that some of the movements like pliés and tendus were familiar to her, and she focused on copying the demonstrations of the older girls as accurately as she could. The Vittozzis moved amongst the second years, making corrections to the students’ posture, the turnout of their feet, the line of their arms and their head position. Hermione was hyper-aware of the movements of the two instructors but she couldn’t keep an eye on them all the time, so she was taken a little bit by surprise when she suddenly felt a hand on her back, forcing her shoulders down, and another raising her elbow up by an inch to improve her second position. Signora Vittozzi came into view out of the corner of Hermione’s eye, and she tried not to get distracted by her presence as she watched her attempts at the rond de jambe with close scrutiny. 

The signora tsked loudly. “Your posture is atrocious,” she told Hermione bluntly, coming to stand directly in front of her. “Shoulders  _ down _ , back straight, neck long,” she instructed, manipulating Hermione’s body until it met something close to her standards. “Slide the foot through first position every single time,” she said loudly to the room as a whole, but Hermione saw the signora glance down at her feet with a distasteful expression before she turned away to criticise someone else. Hermione tried to take the comments in good grace; Vittozzi was trying to help her improve, after all, even if she trembled internally at being described as atrocious for the first time in her life. 

Her body soon started to ache at the unfamiliar way she was using it but there was no respite. As soon as their barre exercises were completed (the older students quickly cancelling the charms on everyone’s hands) they were put to the test with some centre work. Without the balancing spell to steady them, the second years wobbled a lot more as they completed similar exercises to the ones they had at the barre. There was so much to remember with the placement of the arms and the turn out of the feet that it was sometimes difficult to remember what step she had to do next, and she was relieved when signor Vittozzi announced they were to move on to the jumping section. But her relief was short-lived as she very quickly found herself out of breath and her legs burning. Hermione seriously thought that she’d be in better shape after two years of climbing around the castle. Hermione would argue that her recent petrification accounted for this lack of fitness but she knew for a fact that her body’s condition had not deteriorated during her time in the Hospital Wing. The Vittozzis barked at them all to jump higher, stretch their legs, point their toes and watch their arms, and the difficulty only increased when they started to doing turning jumps that left most of the students very dizzy. 

Hermione had managed to avoid any great sense of embarrassment during the course of the lesson because she knew that all the other students were trying just as hard to avoid being yelled at, so there was no chance to laugh at each other. Unfortunately, there was just enough time before the end of the lesson for them to perform travelling steps like skips, gallops and leaps diagonally across the hall in small groups. Hermione watched in consternation as the older students demonstrated the moves with perfect poise and landed their split leaps in impossible silence. 

She could hear Ron muttering curse words under his breath behind her at how little he wanted to skip across the hall, but Hermione watched the first group of students intensely to make sure she had memorised the steps correctly. Her first attempt wasn’t terrible and she seemed to finish in time with the music, unlike most of the other people in her group. By the third go, she felt confident that she knew what she was doing and allowed herself a smile of triumph for her efforts. It was nowhere near the level of the older students, of course, but she was pleased with herself nonetheless, and, when she glanced over at the Vittozzis, she found that the married couple were watching her. The husband was looking at her more favourably than the wife, who leaned forwards to whisper something in his ear. He sent her a mildly disapproving glance and shrugged his shoulders before they both turned their attention to the next group. Hermione wondered whether signora Vittozzi had said something about her. If she had, it didn’t appear to have been anything particularly positive.

The class finished a couple of minutes later, much to most people’s relief, and the Vittozzis announced that there would be signup sheets posted in each Common Room, which would only remain there until nine o’clock the next morning. Hermione felt a little alarmed that she would have to make a decision so quickly about whether to take up ballet, and she was so unsure about what she was going to do that she didn’t even hear most of Ron and Harry’s moaning about the torture they’d endured as they returned, sweaty and aching, back to the Common Room. 

“What did you think of it, Hermione?” Harry asked as they closed in on the Fat Lady’s portrait. 

“Oh,” she replied, startled at being drawn into the conversation. “Um, well, I didn’t mind it actually.” Both boys looked at her in surprise so she added, “But it was even more tiring than I thought it was going to be.” 

“ _ Bloody ballet _ ,” Ron muttered scathingly (for what was probably the twentieth time that day) apparently in agreement with her words. 

They gave the password to the Fat Lady and then departed to get washed and changed for dinner. Hermione wasn’t surprised to see that the new sign-up sheet was devoid of names as she waited for Harry and Ron to emerge from their dormitory, and she wondered if any of her fellow Gryffindors would put themselves forwards before tomorrow morning. She doubted it: all the boys had remained at the very back of that day’s class and she already knew that Lavender and Parvati weren’t prepared to take on the hard work required. As for Hermione herself, she had come to a decision about  _ when _ she would make her decision – tomorrow morning, when she woke up. There was no point making her mind up so soon after the class when she had time to come to an informed decision in the morning, and she could see how her body had fared a few hours after the intense workout.

Dinner was a noisy affair as the rest of the Gryffindor second years were noticeably relieved about coming through their ballet ordeal, and now only had the summer holidays to look forward to. Hermione tried to join in with the merriment but she’d never been the greatest in these sorts of social occasions, and her stomach was still fluttering with indecision. 

“So, is anyone thinking of signing up to ballet?” Neville asked with an attempt at a casual air, but Hermione could see he was distinctly nervous about the response to his question. 

Ron snorted. “No chance,” he said, a sentiment echoed by the rest of the Gryffindor boys.

Neville looked quite perturbed, and his cheeks became quite red as he glanced down at his ice cream.

Hermione wasn’t the only one to notice his behaviour.

“Neville?” Harry asked with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Neville lifted a spoonful of vanilla ice cream to his lips and he mumbled a response, before shoving his dessert in his mouth.

“What?” Harry questioned, clearly, like Hermione, having not heard a word of what he’d said. 

Neville choked a little on the ice cream and his face turned even redder as the group’s gazes zeroed in on him. “Gran wants me to do it,” he admitted in a voice barely above a whisper. 

Hermione couldn’t quite keep an astonished look off of her face and Harry looked equally surprised. Ron, however, just shook his head and said firmly, “It’s your life, Neville. Your grandmother can’t  _ make _ you do something you don’t want to do.” Then his expression became suspicious. “You  _ don’t _ want to do ballet,  _ do you _ ?”

“No, I, well, it’s just,” Neville stammered. “Maybe it’ll be good for me, like Gran says. I’d only do it for a year to get the initial qualification and pick up the key dances – I don’t think I’d be good enough to progress further.” He looked at Ron in mild confusion. “Doesn’t your mother want you to do it?”

Ron shrugged and shoved a large spoonful of raspberry ice cream into his mouth. “I’m sure she’d love me to but it bloody well isn’t going to happen and she knows it,” he declared thickly as he swallowed the ice cream. “Percy did it for a year, much to Mum’s delight,” he muttered, throwing an annoyed glance down the table at his older brother, “and Bill kept it up until his OWLs, but I’d sooner take up extra Potions lessons with Snape than ballet.” 

Neville shuddered at what, for him, would be such a terrifying alternative but he still looked around at the rest of the Gryffindors a little desperately. “There must be one of you that wants to do ballet with me,” he said pleadingly. “I don’t want to go on my own – I know all the Slytherins will sign up and Malfoy always picks on me whenever he gets the chance.” 

Hermione could see all the boys were steadfastly avoiding Neville’s imploring gaze. She didn’t understand why partaking in ballet was so important to Neville or his Gran, but she felt a strong urge to help him. 

“I’ll join up with you,” she found herself saying before she lost her nerve. 

The look of hopeful relief on Neville’s face was quickly upstaged by the loud laughter emanating from Ron. “ _ You _ ?” he asked in amused disbelief. “Do ballet?”

Hermione instantly felt herself become tense. “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked defensively. Was the idea really so ridiculous?

“Well, you’re all about books and essays, aren’t you?” Ron explained, looking increasingly confused that she wasn’t actually attempting some sort of joke.

“So I’m not allowed to have interests outside of my academic studies?” she questioned, a hint of anger creeping into her voice.

Ron shrugged. “You never struck me as the sort for all the sequins and prancing about, no offence,” he added unconvincingly, which only made her more irritated. “Besides, you’re not a pureblood.”

Hermione felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. “What has that got to do with anything?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her voice level. 

Harry was watching the conversation with a wary expression on his face and Ron seemed to realise he’d said something that was potentially offensive because he quickly explained, “Only purebloods study ballet, that’s all. It’s just an old tradition for snobby pureblood families to show off that their children are good dancers. If your son or daughter actually joined a magical ballet company when they left school, it was considered a great honour and all the other families would be spitting with jealousy,” he said, rolling his eyes to show how ridiculous he thought this was. “That’s not really the case anymore, but most traditional pureblood families expect their kids to study it for a couple of years anyway.”

“So that’s why you think the Slytherins will all sign up?” Harry asked Neville. 

He nodded. “It’s why Gran wants me to do it,” he said. “Tradition means a lot to her and she says both my mum and dad studied it for a couple of years too.” He glanced at Hermione. “It’s OK, Hermione, I understand if you don’t want to do it anymore.” 

She felt a resolve settle deep within her. She didn’t care one jot that magical ballet was only really studied by purebloods at Hogwarts. She’d had far too much experience of being singled out because of her blood status that year. It had almost cost her life and she’d missed a significant amount of schooling because some witches and wizards thought that she didn’t belong in their world but, ironically, that was when she  _ thrived _ . When people told her that she couldn’t do something, that was when she was her most determined to succeed, and she wasn’t going to let the traditional views of the pureblood families stand in her way when there was something she wanted to do. And she knew, now, how  _ desperately _ she wanted to study ballet; to be like the dancers she’d seen on stage the previous day. She expected she’d have reached that conclusion before the cut-off time tomorrow morning, but it had certainly been cemented by Ron’s attitude and the expectations she was about to smash – because nobody told Hermione Granger what she should or shouldn’t do with her life. 

“Neville,” she said clearly and confidently, “I’d  _ love _ to sign up to Magical Ballet with you.” 


	2. Third Year - Part One

Third Year - Part One

Theo walked with a mild sense of excitement to his first Magical Ballet class alongside the rest of the Third Year Slytherins – well,  _ most _ of them. Draco still hadn’t returned from the Hospital Wing after the previous day’s brutal attack from that oaf’s beastly hippogriff. It had certainly been a dramatic introduction to Care of Magical Creatures, and Theo couldn’t help but feel that Draco had been fortunate to escape with his life: from what he’d seen, it looked like the hippogriff had been about to stamp its hooves right onto Draco’s face. Knowing Lucius Malfoy quite well, Theo doubted that Hagrid would be a Hogwarts teacher for much longer.

The incident was all anyone had been able to talk about for the last twenty-four hours, but he and his friends finally moved on from the subject in the build up to their first ballet class. Theo had never considered not taking on Magical Ballet: it was expected of him and he was happy to fulfil the obligation. He had been to various society functions over the years and seen first-hand the role dance played in those circles - from the traditional dances performed at family celebrations, balls and galas, right through to evenings when prestigious magical ballet companies would perform in the opulent Merlin Theatre in London - the peak in the social calendar for pureblood families. On one occasion when Theo was a small child, he had been fortunate enough to watch the Ballet du Monde company - arguably the best company in the world. And on stage that night, in leading roles, were the two dancers that were now to be his instructors. Francesco and Katriona Vittozzi had been Principal dancers with the distinguished company and performed in magical communities all around the world. Theo didn’t have any idea how Professor Dumbledore was able to convince them to teach at Hogwarts after they retired, but it was an honour to receive dance instruction from such legends of the art. Theo aimed to do his very best under their tutelage so that he wouldn’t let them, his father or his mother down. 

He felt a painful stirring at the thought of his mother, but he quickly shoved it aside as he followed his housemates into the rehearsal studio. It was a room not much bigger than many of the other classrooms at Hogwarts, but the three walls without windows consisted of nothing but mirrors from the floor to the ceiling, giving the impression that the space was larger than it really was. The interior of the castle was typically quite cool but the temperature of the dance room was rather warm, and Theo felt happy to shrug off his outer robe without worrying about becoming cold. Signor Vittozzi brusquely instructed them to put their belongings to one side, change into their dance shoes and then gather at the front with their wands. 

All the students hurried to obey his instructions and Theo was one of the first to take his place before the legendary dance instructor. As he waited for the others to fall in beside him, he glanced around to see which students from the rest of the houses had signed up. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see such a small number of students from Ravenclaw (Boot, Brocklehurst and Corner) because he knew they tended to prioritise their studies over everything else. There was a larger group of Hufflepuffs (Abbott, Bones, Macmillan and a few others) who were probably taking ballet to try and make up for being landed in such a dud of a house. Theo barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes when he caught sight of Longbottom moving timidly over to the group, but his disdain for the inept Gryffindor was completely trumped by his utter astonishment at seeing Granger, the  _ mudblood _ , hurrying self-consciously next to him. 

Theo wasn’t the only one to notice this utterly astounding addition to their ballet group. “What’s  _ she _ doing here?” he heard Pansy whisper sneeringly to the rest of the Slytherin girls. “I thought I could smell something disgusting and now I know why!” There was the unmistakable sound of sniggers being muffled by hands. Theo was still amazed that Hermione Granger was there taking ballet with them, pretending as though it was a totally normal thing. Didn’t she know that only purebloods studied Magical Ballet? Had nobody told her that only those with such noble heritages could expect their body to be able to cope with the rigorous demands of the art? Perhaps, Theo thought, that was  _ exactly _ what had happened: as far back as he could remember, Theo’s family had explained very clearly all about how the purity of his blood made him so superior to most other witches and wizards and, particularly,  _ mudbloods. _ Clearly, no one had done the same for Granger. Theo looked away from her quickly: it was almost  _ embarrassing _ to have her there… 

“We will begin the lesson shortly,” signor Vittozzi said, raking his gaze over the assembled students, “but first I will outline the aims for this year – it is important for us to know where we are headed, no?” A couple of the students gave small nods in response but most just stood, waiting expectantly for him to continue. “The first year’s study will actually involve little magic because you need to build up the strength in your body; introducing the magic into your body too soon can lead to serious injuries.” 

Theo already knew that because his father had told him over summer. Apparently it was normal to start off slowly so that the weaker students could quit before things got serious, and only the strongest remained. Theo’s father hadn’t said so explicitly but Theo felt sure (going by everything that his family  _ had _ told him over the years) that it would be the students whose blood was purest that would make the best dancers – how could it be otherwise? He highly doubted that Granger would last more than two weeks.

“So, much of our work this year will focus on building up that strength and learning the steps that underpin all ballet work,” signor Vittozzi continued, his Italian accent rolling pleasantly off of his tongue. “But we will also learn the traditional dances that you might come across in society functions throughout Britain and Europe. There will be a graded examination around Easter, along with our showcase performance in front of the rest of the school at the end of the year. Now, let’s dance.” 

Signor Vittozzi demonstrated how to perform the balancing charm for their hand, and a few minutes were wasted as some people struggled to perform the fiddly spell. Out of the corner of his eye, Theo noticed that Granger mastered the spell almost at once and she eventually had to complete it for Longbottom because he couldn’t do it for himself. 

Once that was completed, the ballet class truly began. They methodically went through the exercises in a similar order to their sample lesson from the previous summer. Signor Vittozzi demonstrated the finer technical aspects of the different moves before they began but, without the older students to model along with the music, a few of the Third Years struggled. Theo couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at Granger periodically and he was surprised to find that, while there were certainly improvements to be made to her posture and technique, she was managing to keep pace with the steps. Longbottom, on the other hand, was receiving at least twice the amount of attention from signor Vittozzi as the rest of the students put together. Theo reckoned that the Longbottoms must have a direct mudblood ancestor that their family had long tried to keep quiet about…

Theo was so distracted by his discrete observations of the Gryffindors that he performed a completely wrong move in the middle of their fondus exercise. 

“Focus your attention, Mr Nott,” signor Vittozzi called to him and Theo’s face flushed with shame. He resolved to push his unseemly interest in Granger aside for the rest of the class to ensure that he performed at the level he expected of himself. He was able to achieve this thanks to his natural ability to concentrate on whatever he set his mind to, and his satisfaction with his own performance levels rose as the class went on. There was no doubt that it was tiring work though and, as they moved through the exercises without the help of the balancing charm, all the students became sweaty and red-faced. Signor Vittozzi didn’t take pity on his new charges. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying pointing out how much their fitness levels needed to increase if they were to see the year’s dance classes through. 

After the completion of a particularly gruelling exercise of jumps, signor Vittozzi looked somewhat amused as he announced, “We will complete that exercise five more times, without a break,” much to the disbelief of his exhausted students. “Anyone who gets to the end will get twenty-five points for their house.” 

It was a substantial reward but Theo had no doubt that signor Vittozzi had named such a high figure because he doubted many – if  _ any _ – of them would achieve it. Eager to make up for his earlier blunder, Theo resolved to get to the end. However, as he neared the end of the first set, his body told him that it wouldn’t be possible. His legs burned as he pushed his body harder than he’d ever done before and he struggled to draw in enough breath. Signor Vittozzi barked his encouragement, telling them to jump higher, squeeze their muscles and keep going. Theo could sense the people around him starting to pull out of the challenge mid-way through the second run and his body desperately wanted to join them but he forced himself to continue. Somehow, he managed to complete the second and third set and he was able to take a tiny sense of positivity from the fact that he was now over halfway through. 

“Up, up!” Vittozzi commanded eagerly, clapping his hands to correspond with their jumps.

Theo’s breath was coming in noisy, ragged pants and he doubted he looked at all like a ballet student anymore with his technique suffering as a result of his exhaustion. 

“One more set to go!” the dance instructor cried, looking excited, his eyes darting between Theo and what must be another student still in the running. Spots were starting to appear in front of Theo’s eyes but he was so close to the finish that he refused to give in. Four more jumps…

“Bravo!” signor Vittozzi called loudly, applauding as Theo stumbled to a halt after his final jump. He crouched down, resting his hands on his legs as he sucked in a huge lungful of air after another, and tried not to pass out. “Very impressive feats of determination. I can’t recall ever having two students be successful. What about you, my dear?” 

It took Theo a few moments for signor Vittozzi’s words to make sense in his exhausted mind and he realised that signora Vittozzi must have entered the room during their torturous jump session. Theo tried to look up but his head was completely drenched with sweat and some of it had dripped into his eyes, making them sting terribly. He swiped the moisture away roughly and forced himself to stand upright in the stance expected of someone of his breeding. Signora Vittozzi gave him the smallest of approving nods at his improved posture before she returned her imperious gaze to her husband. Theo noticed that her features didn’t soften much.

“No, indeed,” she agreed. “It’s rare that we have any finishers at all.” Her sharp eyes moved to a point behind Theo. “But two is most…  _ unprecedented. _ ” It was obvious that there was more to those words beyond the obvious, and Theo shifted his still-aching body so he could see who else had managed to impress the Vittozzis.

His jaw dropped in complete disbelief. 

No.

It wasn’t possible, surely? And yet, there she was: red-faced, sweaty, panting and utterly dishevelled, but with a gleam of victory in her features.

How  _ in Salazar’s name _ had a mudblood come through such a gruelling physical challenge?! 

Before Theo could recall all of his father’s lectures on the deficiencies of muggles, Granger’s gaze glanced up to meet his own and his mind went utterly blank. He didn’t think he’d ever looked into her eyes before – into the eyes of  _ anyone  _ of her breeding, actually – and all he could do was stare at her. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly and, with a shock, he realised that she was  _ smiling _ at him. 

Theo jerked his head back round to the front of the classroom and snapped his jaw closed hard enough to cause pain to flash along his lower face. How  _ dare _ she smile at him as though they were equals? What a ridiculous notion! 

Only a handful of seconds had elapsed since Theo had first glanced in Granger’s direction and the Vittozzis were still looking at her. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” the ballet mistress’s tone was very curt as she spoke to Granger, but Theo refused to look around to see how the girl was reacting to the hostility. 

“Hermione Granger, signora,” she replied breathlessly.

Signora Vittozzi raised a delicate eyebrow. “ _ Granger _ ?” she repeated with polite confusion. “I’m not familiar with that surname.” 

Theo was fairly sure that he could hear the sound of stifled giggles coming from the Slytherin girls but Granger’s confident reply was, “Really? I’ve found it’s a fairly common name.” 

The signora’s eyes narrowed. “Common in the  _ muggle _ world?” she asked, her voice still overly polite. 

“Yes,” came Granger’s defensive response.

“You have muggle parentage?” Signora Vittozzi inquired but Theo was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that. The atmosphere in the room was incredibly tense as the rest of the students watched the exchange in silence.

“I do,” Granger replied tersely. “Is that a problem, signora?” She was trying to sound brave but Theo definitely heard a tremor in her voice; he wasn’t surprised – it wasn’t like Granger to challenge a teacher. 

Signor Vittozzi looked displeased at the question but his wife didn’t appear fazed at all. “It’s certainly unfortunate for your chances of performing well in this art,” she replied calmly. Theo’s resolve not to look Granger’s way crumbled and he watched a number of emotions flicker across her face at the ballet mistress’s blunt words. “It’s well-known that those born with a magical lineage that is passed down from their parents perform ballet better – some would say that it’s in their  _ blood _ , Miss Granger.” 

Granger looked utterly stunned at hearing a teacher state what was (to Theo, at least) a universal truth about mudblood inferiority. Obviously, just like he had predicted, no one  _ had _ told her that she was unsuited to Magical Ballet. 

“Some people say that about performing all magic but that’s rubbish,” a voice piped up and Theo was startled to see that Longbottom was the speaker. He looked terrified to have the attention of the room but he squeezed his hands into fists and said, “Hermione’s top of our year – she can do  _ anything _ the professors ask her to.” 

“I’m sure my wife meant no offence,” signor Vittozzi said softly and raised a calming hand, obviously sensing the hostility emanating from the Gryffindors. 

“Of course not,” the signora added but she didn’t sound particularly genuine to Theo’s ears – and nor should she be seeing as she was simply speaking the truth about pureblood supremacy.

“Your heritage  _ is _ a disadvantage, Miss Granger, but only because a lot of the old magical families grow up with the ballet as part of their childhood,” signor Vittozzi explained. He looked around at the other students. “Who has been taken to watch Magical Ballet companies with their relatives?”

All the students except Granger raised their hand.

“They have been exposed to it from a young age,” the dance instructor said simply taking a few steps towards her. His tone was almost kind but Granger watched him stiffly. “Many of them will have already received tuition prior to this class and will know the basics of a lot of the traditional dances. So, yes, you are at a clear disadvantage, but that does not mean you cannot succeed if that is your wish. Hard work, determination and a love of dance are the most significant factors in ensuring your progress in this art. Today has been a good start for you.”

She watched him cautiously, still looking rather emotional. “Thank you, signor,” she murmured. 

He nodded and glanced up at the other students. “Class is over for today. You will return on Thursday for your next lesson.” 

He turned his back on the students, immediately dismissing them, but his wife’s gaze lingered on Granger for a few moments longer before she joined him by the gramophone that had provided the music during their lesson. The students packed away their things quietly while they discreetly watched Granger and the Vittozzis. Granger was acting like nothing had happened but the ballet teachers were talking quietly to each other, both looking unhappy. 

* * *

Hermione deposited her heaving bag onto the floor and then collapsed onto her bed with a soft groan. She knew it was probably foolish to indulge her exhaustion for even a few seconds when her ballet class started in just twenty minutes, but her eyelids pulled irresistibly downwards and she was powerless to stop them. 

She was over two months into her Third Year now and her busy schedule was certainly beginning to take its toll. She couldn’t complain though, because the chance to study all the different magical subjects was exactly what she had requested. It was only thanks to the time-turner that she was able to attend all her lessons, and she was so grateful that Professor McGonagall had gone to great lengths to provide her with one. 

Of her new subjects, she found Ancient Runes and Arithmancy particularly fascinating and it was also intriguing to study muggles from the point of view of witches and wizards. After the dramatic events of their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, that subject had become somewhat tame – not that she’d be telling Hagrid that. She knew that he had the potential to deliver interesting and educational lessons but the threat of Buckbeak’s hearing hovered over him like a black cloud, and he obviously didn’t dare try introducing any other animals that could harm the students, which was why they had been stuck looking after flobberworms ever since. However, Hermione heartily preferred spending time with Hagrid than in the stuffy Divination tower with Professor Trelawney. As far as she was concerned, Divination was little more than a waste of time, but she wasn’t about to let the barmy professor be the first person to force her to quit something. 

But Professor Trelawney wasn’t rude or dismissive, unlike signora Vittozzi. The ballet mistress was careful not to say anything derogatory about Hermione’s blood status but it was plainly written across her face every time she looked her way. At first, Hermione had been a little stunned that a Hogwarts professor could be so openly prejudiced against someone’s heritage and she’d considered making a complaint to Professor McGonagall, but she could hardly complain that the signora looked distinctly unimpressed whenever she glanced Hermione’s way, could she? Hermione had decided that the best way to respond to her ballet mistress’s disdain was to prove her assumptions about muggleborns wrong, and it made her even more determined to become a good dancer. And, thanks to her hard work, she knew that she was improving week by week.

Hermione sighed and rolled off of the bed to get changed for her lesson. As she did so, she glanced through the notes she’d made from the previous few dance classes. Ron and the others thought that she couldn’t apply her usual studying techniques to ballet and they were right, to an extent, but she was treating it like another academic class as much as she could. Over the summer, she had checked out a couple of muggle ballet books from her local library and made notes on the vocabulary for the different steps. Her mother had let her rent a couple of videotapes of muggle ballet productions from the local rental shop and she had even tried (very unsuccessfully) to copy some of the moves in her living room. However, her biggest effort during the summer months came from the disappointment she’d felt in her fitness levels during the sample class, and so she’d regularly gone out for runs and attended a couple of exercise classes with her mother. The result of her efforts meant that she was one of only two students to see the signor’s jump series through to the end – something she was very proud of, even though it had brought her to the signora’s attention. After each class, Hermione would meticulously copy down any new exercises they were taught and made note of improvements the Vittozzis made to her technique (of which there would be many if the signora was teaching). 

Satisfied that she was prepared for her lesson, Hermione hurried down the dormitory stairs and smiled at Neville, who was waiting for her in the common room. The only person in their class who received more criticism from the signora was Neville and, by his own admission, he wasn’t particularly skilled at ballet. However, after Neville had stood up for her in the first class, Hermione would never say a word against him. They had recently begun learning some of the traditional dances from magical society. Much of this involved partner work and Hermione had been paired with Neville. It was not an ideal partnership because he frequently forgot the choreography and had stepped on her toes more than once. She knew that the Slytherins were laughing at them but she didn’t care – she’d much rather have a friend who had her back than a proficient partner that would drop her immediately in the name of self-preservation.

“Could we go over the steps to the gavotte before the start of the class?” Neville asked her as they made their way through the castle. “I can’t remember what happens beyond the first few steps.” 

“Of course,” Hermione agreed, more than a little used to these requests by now. Personally, she thought that learning the traditional dances was a bit of a waste of time because she couldn’t really envision an occasion in the future where she would actually perform them beyond Hogwarts – it wasn’t as though the Slytherins were going to invite her to one of their snooty balls! However, she knew that a lot of the Pureblood families had encouraged their children to sign up to magical ballet precisely so that they could learn these dances for their societal gatherings. And, what was more, a number of them had already received tutelage  _ from _ signora Vittozzi since a young age. That was why they had all been so good and confident in the taster lesson the previous summer. Appearances were obviously very important to those old families and if they wanted their children to know the old-fashioned society dances then the signora would be foolish not to teach them. Hermione performed them to the best of her ability but she much preferred the work they did on pure ballet – that was what had driven her to sign up for the classes in the first place. 

When they reached the corridor of the dance classrooms, they found most of the other students in their class waiting outside. This was a common occurrence on Thursdays because the class before theirs was for the senior dancers (those in their Sixth and Seventh Years) and it was rare that they would finish a minute before they had to. Unfortunately, the thick wooden door was closed, preventing them from ever seeing the older dancers at work, but the Third Years would always quieten to a respectful near-silence when the talented dancers walked past them on their way out, their toned bodies sweat-drenched and faces red from their exertions. 

There were still a few minutes until their class was scheduled to begin, so Hermione placed her and Neville’s belongings to the side and started rehearsing the steps of the gavotte. When they had run it through, Hermione enlisted the help of Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan to make a foursome that was more accurate to how the dance would be performed. 

“You need to wait a couple of counts longer before you do the turning step, Neville,” Hannah Abbott commented, watching the dance carefully so she could spot anything Hermione had missed. 

“Let’s try it again,” Ernie suggested and the four of them retook their places. 

Hermione’s smile grew wider as they successfully moved through the dance; she loved that the students from the other houses were supportive of each other – well,  _ most _ of the other houses, anyway. Right on cue, the Slytherins turned into the corridor and the friendly atmosphere cooled at once. Neville, concentrating hard on his steps, hadn’t noticed and bumped right into Hermione, who had unconsciously paused at the arrival of the Slytherins. She stumbled rather inelegantly at the impact and there were a number of snickers at her expense, the heartiest of which belonged to Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. 

“She’s  _ awful _ , isn’t she?” Pansy giggled, not bothering to keep her voice down as she turned to the rest of the Slytherins.

“I’ve only got one working arm and I can do it better than  _ that _ !” Malfoy added. 

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm, Malfoy,” Hermione accused bitterly before she could stop herself. She had always found him irritating and deeply unpleasant, but that had been magnified ever since he had done everything he could to jeopardise Hagrid’s career after Buckbeak had wounded him. She, Harry and Ron were convinced that Malfoy had fully recovered from the injury but pretended otherwise so that he could make things bad for Hagrid and avoid doing as much work as possible. Hermione had been watching him closely in ballet to try and catch him out but, unfortunately, he was clever enough to make sure he didn’t use that arm extensively when she was around. 

Apart from her discrete observations, she would mostly ignore him and all of the other Slytherins if they whispered insults at her when they knew the Vittozzis wouldn’t hear: it wasn’t worth engaging them or becoming upset because that was exactly what they wanted. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at her words and an affronted expression twisted his face. “How  _ dare _ you speak to me!” 

Blood rushed to Hermione’s face as anger flushed through her body. She was so sick of this ridiculous fallacy that her parents being muggles made her inferior to everyone else. Would she really have to spend her entire life in the magical world proving bigots like Malfoy wrong? “How dare I?” she repeated as calmly as she could. “ _ Easily. _ You’re nothing special, Malfoy.” 

The Slytherins looked positively scandalised and the other students watched wide-eyed. Spots of pink blossomed on Malfoy’s furious face. “You  _ disgust _ me,” he sneered vehemently. 

“Tell that piece of filth exactly what she is, Draco,” Pansy encouraged, glaring at Hermione. 

Hermione found Pansy almost as irritating as Malfoy and she refused to be intimidated by the horrible girl, so she took a step forward instead. “Say it,” she challenged him and then shrugged. “I don’t care. It hasn’t stopped me before and it’s never going to stop me from doing what I want or showing what I’m capable of.” 

If she thought Malfoy looked angry before, he looked apoplectic now. He took a step forward and opened his mouth to give some sort of vitriolic retort when the atmosphere was broken by a loud, patronising sigh. “Look, Tam, the children are squabbling,” a female voice said.

Hermione glanced along the corridor and saw that the advanced class had obviously finished because the dancers were emerging from the classroom. Embarrassment crept over her skin as each of the older students took in the confrontation before them. The girl who had spoken had shiny black hair that had been plaited into an intricate bun, and Hermione was sure that she’d seen her pointed nose and high cheekbones in a Slytherin uniform. As she turned to the tall, brown-haired boy next to her with a condescending, “How juvenile,” the haughty air and roll of her eyes certainly indicated that house. Hermione stepped back so she wasn’t going to be blocking the corridor but then she heard the girl gasp. “Oh, never mind. You know who  _ that _ is, right? I think it’s a disgrace they let her in, don’t you?” 

The girl’s voice carried clearly down the corridor and Malfoy smirked victoriously in Hermione’s direction. “ _ Mudblood, _ ” he muttered and then turned smugly back to his laughing friends. 

Neville put a consoling hand on Hermione’s arm, but for some reason that made her feel more emotional and she could feel her eyes stinging for the first time since the start of her encounter with Malfoy.

The older students were almost level with her now, the black-haired ballerina leading the way, next to the tall boy whom Hermione was pretty sure she also recognised as being from Slytherin. Hermione was doing her best to ignore them but some sixth sense told her to glance up. The boy was looking at her. This wasn’t particularly surprising as the pointy-nosed student next to him had been so intent on pointing her out, but the expression on his face  _ was _ . Instead of the disgusted or sneering look she’d anticipated, he actually looked mildly troubled – as though he felt sympathy for her. Hermione would have convinced herself that she was imagining it but, as she stared at him, he half-smiled and jerked his lower face upwards slightly, as though saying to her, ‘Keep your chin up.’ No one else seemed to have noticed this astonishing show of support for they carried on as normal: the black-haired girl was gossiping loudly over her shoulder to someone behind her as the older students walked past and the third years were gathering their things for class. 

“Hermione? Are you alright?” Hannah asked gently.

Hermione turned away quickly, realising she’d been staring at the older Slytherin boy’s head as it disappeared down the corridor. “I’m fine, Hannah,” she said, a strange mixture of emotions pulsing through her. She took her ballet equipment from Hannah, who had been kind enough to bring it over to her. “Thank you. Let’s go in before Signora yells at us.” Hannah nodded with a small smile and the two girls hurried towards their classroom, Hermione casting a last speculative look after the older students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those supporting this fic.   
> Keep safe everyone!


	3. Third Year - Part Two

Third Year - Part Two

Theo hurried along the familiar path towards the dance studios, lamenting the fact that he had been too absorbed in finishing off his Transfiguration homework to notice the time. He wasn't late for a class (he'd  _ never  _ let himself commit such a travesty) but he had written his name on the booking form for one of the smaller dance rehearsal rooms, and ten minutes of his allotted time had already passed. It was no easy feat to get time in one of the rehearsal rooms because they were much sought after by the older students to practise their routines alone, in pairs or small groups. The Third Year students were given the sign-up sheet last, leaving them the slots no one else wanted, which was primarily during meals or after curfew. Even so, the rooms were so in-demand that Theo had only been able to book a room twice since Christmas, and it was now the end of January. 

Most of the other students in his ballet class didn't bother with the extra rehearsal time because they were, after all, still at the very beginning of their journeys as dancers, and they hadn't yet learned enough to really warrant putting in the extra hours. However, over the course of the last few months, Theo had found that there was nothing more he loved to do than dance. 

He had always enjoyed the private tutelage he had received when he was younger but he'd merely seen it as more of a duty; a way of life for a child of a distinguished Pureblood family. Now that he had entered the proper education of a young dancer, he had come to look forward to his lessons from the Vittozzis more than any other - and that was saying a lot for he very much enjoyed the academic challenge of his other subjects. But there was something different about the way he was able to gain more control over his body, to feel stronger with each passing week and push himself to the limit whilst attempting to maintain a semblance of poise and grace. A couple of times in his youth, he had wondered if becoming a professional dancer was in his future, but the prospect had seemed so unlikely to come true that he had never thought on it seriously. But that was starting to change as he grew in confidence week on week. 

The Vittozzis worked the students hard and were more forthcoming with their criticisms than their praise, but in Theo's mind that only meant that when they  _ did _ offer you a compliment it had been well earned. He had made it a secret endeavour to work hard enough to earn at least one verbal commendation per lesson from his dance teachers and, so far, he had managed to be successful every time. His desire to impress the Vittozzis was partly the reason behind his booking of a rehearsal studio because he knew that they would cast their eye over the sign up sheet to see which students were putting in the extra effort, and they had previously mentioned to the Third Years that any pupils who took their dancing seriously should sign up for time in a rehearsal room. 

Despite the chilly winter corridors, Theo had worked up quite a sweat by the time he reached the dance corridor. He slowed down his pace and adopted a calmer air in case someone important should see him, and he made his way down to the practice room. He stopped just outside the entrance and confirmed that his name truly was on the sign up sheet for the allotted time, before pulling the heavy wooden door open. He hurried in a few steps then stopped abruptly and stared.

What had caused him to stop was the fact that the room was not empty like it should have been - not that this was particularly unusual: rehearsal time was so sought after that if a room was vacant for a few minutes, others were likely to pounce. Nor was it unheard of for younger students to be chucked out if some of the senior dancers urgently needed the time in a studio. Therefore, it was not the sight of Seventh Year Slytherin student Tam Davies that made Theo stare, but rather the person he was with: Hermione Granger. 

Theo wasn’t so lost in his astonishment that he failed to see that both Davies and Granger were disconcerted by his arrival, but the older dancer was much better at hiding it. “Nott,” Davies said evenly, with a small nod in greeting. “We thought you weren’t coming. You should try to be more prompt next time - some people would claim the studio as their own if you’re more than fifteen minutes late.” 

While Davies spoke, Granger hurried over to her belongings, threw a loose robe around her shoulders, swept the rest of her things clumsily up into her arms and then headed towards the door. 

“Granger,” Davies called but the Gryffindor ignored him, gaze set on the door. Theo was certain that she was going to leave without acknowledging him but just before she passed him, she glanced up. Her gaze was apprehensive but there was also a glint of determination in her posture: the lift of her chin daring him to challenge or insult her, but Theo was still so taken aback by the whole situation that he could only watch blankly as she breezed past him. 

“Granger,” Davies said again, shouldering his bag of belongings and starting to walk after her, but she had already left the room. Davies sighed but he didn’t seem terribly put out. Indeed, he shrugged a moment later and turned a relaxed but somewhat appraising gaze on Theo. “Signor tells me you’re doing well in your classes, Nott: strong stamina, good posture and improving quickly on your technique.” 

Befuddled, Theo gazed back at the older Slytherin. 

It was impossible not to know who your housemates were in Slytherin because hierarchy was so very important, but Theo didn’t know much about Tam Davies except that he had a younger brother who was a Ravenclaw and that he was a particularly gifted dancer - even rumoured to be seeking a place with a magical ballet company upon leaving school. They had never previously spoken, but this was due to the difference in age and Theo’s naturally quiet disposition. Theo doubted that he was little more than a name and a face to Davies, but Theo had admired the older boy’s dance abilities since seeing him in the end-of-year performance in first year. Davies was at least a head taller than Theo and a good few inches broader across the chest and shoulders. Underneath his school robes, you couldn’t tell, but when Davies walked past in his dance attire it was evident that this added breadth was due to a well-toned physique. One thing that Theo had noticed was that Davies seemed to be very popular with the female population of Hogwarts, and girls from all four houses seemed to seek his attention. His honed body was no doubt a factor in this adoration, as was his obvious skill as a dancer - an attribute that Theo had heard was particularly desirable in a romantic partner amongst traditional families (not that it had any impact on Theo’s growing wish to be a dancer: most girls barely knew he existed and he was perfectly comfortable with that) but Davies was also blessed with a classically handsome face that girls giggled over when he walked by. It was easy for someone like Theo to look up to Tam Davies, but now that he was stood facing him after interrupting some sort of meeting with an upstart mudblood, Theo didn’t know what to think. 

Davies raised an eyebrow at Theo’s lack of response. “Don’t say much, do you?” he muttered, looking at him with a more intense expression of scrutiny than before. Davies seemed to come to some sort of decision because he walked to the door, calling out, “See you around, Nott.” 

Theo flinched a little when the door was closed with a loud thud and he turned slowly on the spot, almost like he’d been released from a freezing spell. He looked around, still utterly confused: just  _ what _ in Salazar’s name had he walked in on?

That question plagued him all the way through his unsatisfactory rehearsal, his rushed last-minute dinner and his distracted attempts to complete the rest of his homework. Every time he tried to concentrate on something else, his mind wandered back to that dance studio. He’d checked the sign-up sheet as he’d left and seen that Granger’s name had been written in for the time before his, which certainly explained what  _ she’d _ been doing there, but the reason behind Davies’ presence was still very much unknown. 

A shadow appeared on the piece of parchment he’d been struggling to fill with his assessment of the success of the Warlock Summit of 1655 in relation to accusations of magic by muggles. “Oof, History of Magic, I do not envy you there,” a voice said and Theo looked up into the sympathetic face of Tam Davies. “Having to sit through hours of Binns droning on was a weekly torture for me. I only passed my OWL because a friend in Ravenclaw leant me her notes. Well, she wasn’t really a friend, more of a  _ casual _ acquaintance.” He laughed and the expression on his face clearly showed that he expected Theo to do the same, but he was so unnerved by being in Davies’ presence for the second time in as many hours when they had never spoken before, that he could only look back blankly. 

Davies gave him a curious smile and pulled out the chair to sit opposite him. “You  _ really _ don’t talk much, do you?” 

Theo glanced around the common room to see if anyone else had noticed this strange sight, but Theo’s study table was set apart from the main social area and most people had already gone to bed. 

At Theo’s continued wary silence, Davies scratched the back of his head and said, “Look, I just wanted to talk about what was happening up there.” He gestured in an upwards motion that wasn’t necessary because Theo was perfectly aware what he was referring to. “I was giving Granger a bit of help.”

That answer would have been the most obvious explanation to most people - an older student giving some tips to a beginner - but Theo was confused. “Why would you do that?” he asked quietly. “She’s a mudblood. She’s not cut out for magical ballet - you’re wasting your time.” 

Davies didn’t react. “You know, I’ve asked a few people about you tonight. Do you want to know what they said?” Theo’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Why would Davies go to the effort to ask about him? Davies didn’t wait for a response and revealed, “‘Quiet’ was the main word, but we’ve already covered that. There’s a lot of respect for your family name - one of the oldest in magical Britain - but, unlike others with similar claims, you don’t make a big deal of it. You’ve never lost our house points, have amicable relationships with the Slytherins in your year but only really consider Malfoy and Zabini to be your friends, primarily the latter. You already know what Signor thinks of your dancing and, academically, you’ve shown particular skill in Potions, Transfiguration and Charms and have started to show you’ve got good potential in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

Theo was reeling a little at having his life laid out in black and white like that, and he wondered what the purpose was behind Davies’ little speech. 

“So, we know that you’re in possession of a certain level of intelligence,” Davies continued. “Which begs the question: if you’re so smart, how can you  _ possibly _ believe any of that crap about blood?”

Theo flinched as though he’d been slapped. “ _ What? _ ” he gasped. 

“That whole belief that having magical lineage somehow makes you superior to others, that muggleborns are dirty and not capable - it’s complete  _ shit _ , Nott. How do you not see that?”

This was crazy. There was no way that he was sat here with Tam Davies - possibly the most popular student in school - and he was stating that the fundamental belief of magic that Theo had been taught before he could even speak, was nothing but a lie. It must be some sort of joke… 

“Whatever this is, Davies, it’s not funny,” Theo told him seriously. He motioned to the other Slytherins sitting on the couches. “What if someone else had heard you?”

Davies waved away his concern, which was alarming in itself because dismissing Pureblood supremacy in a roomful of Slytherins wasn’t at all advisable. “Tell me something: which student in your year has come out on top in your end-of-year tests so far?”

“Granger,” Theo answered honestly, “but my father says that’s because she’s stolen magic from others.”

Davies gave him a look of disbelief. “Stolen magic?” he repeated. “Just listen to yourself, Nott. Does that make any sense? A girl who’s had  _ no _ experience of our world knows how to steal magic off of people? How does she do that?”

Theo shrugged. “Everyone knows muggles are sneaky and untrustworthy, Davies.”

“Man, your dad has done a really good job on you, hasn’t he?” he muttered. “And what about your first dance lesson - I heard you and Granger were the only ones to finish the jump exercise. How was that possible if she’s as physically incapable as you believe?” 

“Her stolen magic must have helped her,” Theo answered, giving the conclusion he’d settled on after a few days of wondering the same thing, but Davies scoffed loudly. 

“Deluded,” he said, shaking his head. “Utterly deluded. If you were still a child I could understand it but you’re not stupid, Nott - at least I thought you weren’t.” 

Theo felt blood rush to his face. He’d much prefer to have Davies know as little about him as possible than think so negatively of him, but Davies was the one that was ignorant, not Theo. “Why do so many people thinks it’s true then?”

“Because it suits them to think that,” Davies replied as though it was obvious. “All the wealth, power and knowledge gets shared between the purebloods if they don’t let anyone else into their circle.” 

“But mudbloods come from  _ muggles _ ,” Theo said, the distaste clear in his voice. “They’re dirty.”

Davies sent him a flat look. “You actually think that Granger’s blood is brown, don’t you? How many muggles have you met?” 

Theo hesitated. “None,” he admitted quietly. 

“And everything you’ve ever been told about them has come from your father?” 

“No, from all of my family. And I’ve read about them in books, too,” Theo said defensively.

“And who gave you the books?” 

Theo hesitated again, more blood rushing to his face. “My family.” 

“Exactly,” Davies said, tapping the table to emphasise his point. “You can’t live your life just blindly following what others want you to believe about the world - you’ve got to go out and experience it for yourself. You’ll be surprised by what you find, trust me.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Theo asked, shaking his head in an attempt to ward off Davies’ words. “I wasn’t going to out you for helping her.”

Davies laughed humourlessly. “That’s not what this is about: I wouldn’t have given a shit if you had on my part - nobody would’ve cared about me.”

“So, what, you’re protecting a mudblood?” Theo questioned. 

“When you take your head out of your arse, Nott, you’ll see that all this blood crap is only going to hold you back from seeing everything’s real value,” Davies told him seriously. “Personally, I find a witch who, despite her non-magical upbringing and weeks of being petrified, is top of her year, who got up to some dangerous shit with her friends in first-year that resulted in Dumbledore throwing a mountain of points at them, who is brave enough to stand up against centuries of pureblood tradition to pursue an interest that she’s passionate about, to be damn well worth knowing. And she doesn’t deserve getting loads of shit from idiots who don’t know her true value just because I gave her a bit of help with her dancing.” 

Theo gaped at him, his heart pounding as his world struggled to make sense around him. 

“Oh, and there’s nothing muddy about her blood,  _ moron _ : she bleeds red, just like you and me,” Davies told him with a roll of his eyes and he pushed the chair back to show he was leaving. 

Even though his belief system was being blown apart, Theo still managed to repeat, “Why are you doing this?” When Davies looked confused, he added, “You could have just threatened me to keep quiet and leave Granger alone. Why do  _ this _ ?” he asked, gesturing between them.

Davies just looked at him for a few moments and Theo tried not to squirm under his gaze. “As I said, you seem to have some intelligence. Most of the other people in this house are too stupid, stubborn or set in their ways to see the truth, but I was hoping that it wasn’t too late for you. I just hope I’m not wrong.” He rose then and nodded curtly. “Good night, Nott.” 

Theo watched him go with the uncomfortable feeling that his life might never be the same again. “Good night, Davies.” 

* * *

He was watching her again. She didn’t need to look up at him to check: she could just feel it along her spine. At first, she couldn’t blame him because she could barely believe the circumstances herself, but it had been over a week since he had walked in on her with Tam and he was still looking at her when he thought she didn’t know. She was severely tempted to confront him about it, but she didn’t want to antagonise him when he could make things difficult for her. 

Part of her lamented ever talking to Tam when he unexpectedly approached her in the library one day, but she was finding her life so stressful at the moment that his acts of kindness were the only thing that made her smile lately. 

Harry and Ron weren’t speaking to her. Apparently, trying to prevent your best friend from being murdered was enough of a justification to drop her from their lives. Their actions hurt,  _ deeply _ , and she’d cried about it a fair few times, but she was aware that part of the reason behind her tears was because she was tired _. _ Well, that was a bit of an understatement: she was  _ exhausted _ . Her jam-packed schedule was definitely taking its toll, but she refused to let it show in her work, and she was still achieving top marks in all her subjects (apart from Divination but she obviously didn’t count that as being a proper academic subject). 

Her ballet progress was harder to judge. Signor and signora Vittozzi didn’t give them marks out of ten at the end of each class - though the students were now being reminded every lesson that just before Easter they would have a graded examination of the exercises and dances they had been taught. That should make Hermione feel more confident for they completed every exercise at least once a week, and her knowledge of the traditional dances was becoming more secure every lesson so there would be nothing on the test that she didn’t know how to do. However, unlike all her other tests, she wasn’t being graded on what she  _ knew _ , but how she looked doing it. And, if Hermione went by Signora’s weekly comments, she couldn’t expect to receive one of the top grades. Her concern about this matter led to her seeking out Tam Davies and taking him up on his previous offer to help with her dancing. 

“Signora’s a bitch to everyone,” Tam said dismissively during their first rehearsal together when she explained why she wanted his help. Hermione audibly gasped at his language in regards to a teacher but he laughed. “Don’t be so uptight, Granger - you’re not going to be able to dance with a stick up your arse!” He was still smiling amiably at her, which took the sting out of his words, but he could see that she was still uncomfortable with his language. He held up a pacifying hand. “Look, Signora might be hard to like at times, particularly when you’re getting to know her, but she’s an excellent teacher. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

Tam might have been the one to make the somewhat bewildering offer of friendship first but it was still very intimidating to have him watch her so closely. He’d first approached her about a week after her rather embarrassing argument in the dance corridor with Malfoy. She had been about to snap at the person who was interrupting her work on her Ancient Runes translation, but when she looked up and saw the handsome Slytherin dancer smiling easily at her, she was able to do little more than gape as he introduced himself, told her he admired her for taking on something scarcely attempted by muggleborns and to let him know if she ever needed help. 

Something about Tam had made her want to trust him straight away but she’d had enough unpleasant experiences with Slytherins to treat his offer with caution. She observed him discreetly over the following days and it was easy to see that he was well-liked, even by some of her fellow Gryffindors. So, by the time she was keen for some reassurance about her dancing, she was reasonably content that he wouldn’t just laugh cruelly in her face.

They went through the normal exercises in their first session together and Tam made small adjustments to the shape of her hands and positioning of her head. He also advised her about how to make her movements sharper and more precise, and told her what he did to maintain his balance. 

“You’re good, Granger. You shouldn’t be so insecure,” he told her when they called their first session to a close fifteen minutes before the time ran out. Tam didn’t care about being seen helping her but Hermione didn’t want to give the Slytherins any additional reasons to be cruel to her, so she insisted they not only finish early but leave separately. “We can look at the dances next time.” 

Hermione looked at him gratefully. “You don’t mind giving up more of your time?” 

“Dance is my  _ passion _ ,” he told her in a tone of voice that left her in no doubt at the truthfulness of his words. “Whatever form it takes, I’m more than happy to spend my time doing it.” 

Their second session took place a couple of weeks later (Tam making use of his earlier access to the sign-up sheet to write her name in a slot before they were all taken) and after a quick warm-up where she showed him how she’d taken his advice on board, they moved onto the traditional dances. 

“Why do you keep flinching before the turn?” he asked, flicking his wand to pause the gramophone partway through their polonaise. 

“Do I?” she asked in surprise.

They tried it again and Hermione was more self-aware this time. A look of understanding appeared on her face as they moved towards the turn. Tam paused the music again and gave her an expectant look.

“Neville normally goes the wrong way at that point and he’s jabbed me in the ribs more than once when that happens,” she explained. 

“I see,” he said, a slight frown on his face. “Well, rest assured, I know what I’m doing even if Longbottom doesn’t.” 

As they made their way through the different dances, it became clear that Hermione was doing lots of other things (some conscious, others not) that stemmed from having Neville as a partner. 

“They’ll mark you down for anything that contradicts the choreography,” Tam warned her after she’d tried to alter her grip on his hand to make sure he stepped in the correct direction like she had to do with Neville. 

“But if I don’t do it then the dance will probably go wrong and I’ll lose marks anyway,” she pointed out. 

He shrugged. “Then get a new partner - Longbottom’s going to hold you back.” 

Hermione shook her head instantly. “Neville stood up to Signora for me - I’m not going to abandon him.”

“You’re such a Gryffindor,” Tam complained, “I thought you wanted to do well on your exam? That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” she agreed, feeling troubled, “but I’m not going to give up on a friend to make it happen - that’s out of the question, Davies.” 

He held her gaze for a moment and she wondered if this was where their peculiar association would fall apart. She wouldn’t be surprised: she didn’t know of any incidents where a Slytherin and Gryffindor had worked successfully together. Eventually he sighed and said, “Well, just don’t make it so obvious what you’re doing to help him.” 

They were so absorbed in their work that Hermione didn’t realise how quickly time had gone by, and she gave a cry of alarm when she saw that they had exceeded their time in the room by ten minutes. 

“Look, whoever’s booked out the room obviously isn’t coming,” Tam said, taking her bag back out of her hand and putting it on the floor next to his. “We might as well stay for a few more minutes and make sure you’ve definitely got this  bourrée secure. It of ten comes up in the exam because of the tricky footwork and the changes of direction.” After a moment’s consideration, Hermione agreed because she had never managed to get all the way through the  bourrée successfully until that night due to Neville’s inability to remember the steps. And that was why, a little while later, Theodore Nott walked in on them and had barely stopped staring at Hermione since. 

She looked up from the betony stems she was cutting to glance in his direction but she was surprised to see him away from his cauldron. She turned back to her own work but in her peripheral vision she noticed him walking near her table. He wasn’t even looking at her but she still jumped and the knife bit deeply into her finger. 

She let out a gasp that was a mixture of pain and surprise as blood quickly welled up and then trickled down her hand. Tears pricked at her eyes due to frustration, embarrassment, tiredness and pain, and she used a fistful of her robe to cover the wound and stem the flow. She approached Professor Snape reluctantly, knowing that he was likely to take points off her and lamenting the fact that healing spells weren’t part of her repertoire yet, and so she missed the way Nott stared at the drops of blood she’d left behind at her workstation as though they were something earth-shattering. 

A few days later, Hermione got that familiar tingle down her spine as she was trying to complete her arithmancy homework in the library. She looked up and was surprised to find Nott standing directly in front of her and not looking at her from a distance. He seemed to be deliberating something but her patience was limited due to the amount of work she had to do, so she said, “Can I help you, Nott?”

He half-nodded, opened his mouth and then paused to glance around. She did likewise but there was nobody else anywhere near them. She looked back at Nott expectantly. “I was hoping you could recommend a book,” he said tentatively. 

Hermione blinked in surprise: she hadn’t been expecting that at all. “What about?” 

He craned his head right round this time to check they were truly alone before giving his answer, and if she had thought she was taken aback by his previous words, that was nothing compared to how shocked she was when he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “About muggles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely eager to hear what you all think! 
> 
> Tam Davies, my OC, is a character partly borne out of my frustration with JK Rowling's way of writing all Slytherins: being a Slytherin = evil bigot. Why does being ambitious, resourceful or cunning automatically make you a bad person in the HP universe? It really bothers me. 
> 
> For those of you that care, a bourree is both a French folk dance and two different ballet moves (pas de bourrees and bourrees en couru). A polonaise is a dance of Polish origin which is a bit like a promenade around a hall. I forgot to say last chapter that a gavotte is also a French folk dance. If you want to see what any of these look like then I know for a fact that the internet will be able to show you! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. 
> 
> Keep safe!


	4. Third Year - Part Three

Third Year - Part Three

Theo didn’t know what Tam Davies expected of him. So he finds out that muggles and mudbloods aren’t quite what he thought they were and, what, he’s supposed to declare his new perspective in the Great Hall at dinner time and skip over to Granger and ask if she wants to be his friend? It was crazy. 

After that conversation in the Common Room, Theo had tried to push Tam’s words from his mind but Granger was much harder to ignore - all of a sudden she was everywhere he looked: breakfast, lunch, dinner, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and, of course, Ballet. It was incredibly distracting and he knew she was aware that he kept glancing in her direction, which was distinctly embarrassing. However, it wasn’t until he saw those ruby droplets of blood by her cauldron that he realised he couldn’t put it off any longer: he had to know the truth. 

However, not prepared to stray too far from his comfort area he decided to raise the subject with Blaise first. “You know,” he began tentatively, looking over at his friend as they sat next to each other at lunch. “Granger’s blood wasn’t brown when she cut herself in potions today.”

Blaise barely reacted. “So?” he said lazily, his tone of voice contrasting with the rapid thudding of Theo’s heart. “She’s still a filthy mudblood whatever colour her insides are,” he declared, revulsion on his normally suave face. 

“Right, yeah,” Theo replied quickly but his insides were squirming.

“The name comes from the fact that she’s been born from lesser stock, Theo - muggles are as disgusting as the beasts that wallow in the dirt,” Blaise told him. “They’re vermin. My mother won’t even be in the same room as one. If only we had the same opportunity here...”

Theo understood Blaise’s line of thinking because he’d heard it all many times before, but his father had always insisted that although mudbloods might look like witches and wizards on the outside, it was in their blood that their inferiority would show. After all, blood was all that mattered to the old Pureblood families. How carefully those bloodlines had been preserved to ensure that they were kept untainted by muggles to produce witches and wizards of superior quality…

But, as far as he could tell, Granger’s muggle blood  _ wasn’t _ any different from his own noble and dynastic blood. And if Theo’s father had lied to him or, indeed, been misled about that himself, then what else was Theo ignorant about?

It took him a few more days to gather up the courage to approach her. Thankfully, she took his request seriously and disappeared into the shelves for a minute, leaving him standing a little bit anxiously by her worktable before she returned with two medium sized tomes in her grasp. He took them from her wordlessly and stuffed them deep into his bag and found a deserted section of the library to read them without anyone seeing. 

He didn’t quite know what to make of what he found within. He’d never considered that what he read in an information book might not be factual, but what Granger had picked out for him was very different from the books his own father had given him on muggles. Was one set truthful and the other lies, or were they both biased in their own way. What the hell was he supposed to believe?

About a week later, Signor asked him to stay behind at the end of the lesson. Theo paused, alarm pulsing through his body as he waited for the other students to clear the room, some throwing curious glances over their shoulders at him as they left. Signor poured out some water and handed it to Theo who took it and sipped nervously. What did the ballet master want to talk to him about? Had he done something wrong?

“Something is troubling you,” Signor stated. “You have not performed at your best lately. What is on your mind, Theodore?” 

“Nothing, Signor,” Theo lied quickly, his fingers grasped tightly around the glass of water. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been meeting your expectations; I’ll try harder next time.” 

Signor frowned at him. “Of course I respect your right to keep your matters to yourself, but I would appreciate it if you did not lie to me.” Theo felt a great weight drop into his stomach at his disappointed tone. Signor seemed to notice his quiet despair because his body language softened. “I remember what it was like at your age, trying to find who I was, where I fit in. I was fortunate enough to come from a loving, open family and my schooling was quite different to what you have here, I think. My wife was a Slytherin, you know, and I understand that those in your house form alliances rather than true friendships. And while I respect Severus Snape as an accomplished Potions Master, he does not come across as a Head of House that students would choose to confide in.” If he wasn’t so on edge because of the conversation, Theo probably would have laughed at the prospect of talking to Snape about his confused thoughts and feelings. 

Signor put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “So, what I’m trying to say is that I am here if there’s something you would like to talk about - I consider it my duty to look after the state of mind of my pupils as well as their posture.” He smiled at Theo who could only stare back. Signor patted his shoulder and then turned away to prepare for the next class, leaving Theo to contemplate his words. 

Slytherins didn’t confide in each other - confessing any thoughts that were deeper than the norm left you extremely vulnerable to your ambitious housemates. Besides, with the exception of Tam Davies, Theo was pretty sure he knew that all other Slytherins viewed muggles and muggleborns as inferior, so what would be the point in discussing it with them? Signor was right about not feeling comfortable talking to his Head of House even though he wasn’t sure where Snape stood on the issue. He didn’t like Granger, that was obvious, but he’d never made any criticism of her blood status, and Theo doubted that the muggle-loving Headmaster would employ someone who thought a minority of the students were disgusting. There were, in theory, other members of staff that Theo could turn to but he didn’t trust or know them well enough to open up about his struggles. Not only that but he suspected that he already knew that their answers would be biased towards muggles - how could he trust that what they were telling him was true? The same would be true of any other students that he approached - not that many would stick around long enough if a Slytherin approached them for anything. 

But what about signor Vittozzi? His wife had made it very clear that she wasn’t impressed by muggleborns and, if she really had been a Slytherin, then Theo knew that extended beyond their supposed inability to dance magically. Signor, however, treated Granger the same as any other student. Would he have the balanced, unbiased opinion that Theo needed to hear? The ballet teacher had just intimated that he wanted Theo to trust him, hadn’t he? And Theo was desperate for answers so he could find some sort of inner peace and stop being so damn distracted.

“Are muggleborns inferior to purebloods?” Theo asked suddenly, his heart pounding even harder than before. 

Signor paused in his scrutiny of a piece of parchment and lowered it to look at Theo’s rigid frame. “Does it matter?” he asked. “Whether muggleborns be inferior or equal: does it matter to you?”

“Well,  _ yes _ ,” Theo replied instantly, surprised by the dance teacher’s response.

“Why?”

“ _ Why _ ?” Theo repeated in surprise. “Shouldn’t I want to know the truth?” 

“You are in a privileged position due to your family name. Choosing to believe one point of view is to your advantage, is it not?” Signor pointed out.

“I just want to know the truth,” Theo insisted.

“And what will you do with the truth when you hear it?” he questioned.

“Do? Why would I have to do anything: isn’t just knowing it enough?” Theo asked, beginning to sound desperate. 

Signor Vittozzi studied him closely again. “It’s not as simple as that for some, Theodore, and I think you understand that. You have seen for your own eyes that muggleborn witches and wizards can be more capable than their pureblooded counterparts when performing magic, and it is  _ not _ ,” he added quickly, “because of some silly story about them stealing magic from others. Do you not think that others would have figured out how to steal magic to make themselves more powerful if that was the case? No. They were born with magic, just like you were, and it is as much theirs as anyone else’s. Many blood supremacists know that this is true and so they still seek to put themselves above muggleborns by claiming that muggles themselves are lesser creatures. Have you ever stepped into the muggle world before, Theodore?”

Theo shook his head mutely.

Signor smiled with a look of understanding. “I am fortunate enough to have travelled the world in my career with the company. I saw so many beautiful and incredible things and what I saw in the muggle world was just as impressive as anything magical - maybe even more so considering that we are advantaged by our abilities. Muggles can create buildings that reach as high as the clouds, they have built transport that lets you soar across the skies with the birds, they have sent muggles into the heavens to walk on the moon, they can swap your heart for a healthy one if it is failing and they understand how everything on earth is composed of materials that are smaller than we can see with our eyes. The muggle arts are just as sophisticated as ours and they are constantly pushing the boundaries of what art can be. I could tell you so much more but the only way you can comprehend muggles - and I know that it is not likely to be possible at present - is to see for yourself, Theodore. Muggles should be admired for what they can achieve without magic,” he said earnestly but his expression became more serious and he held up a warning, “though, of course, with everything good there is the bad. Muggles are capable of terrible things, as are users of magic. All those capable of intelligent and independent thought can make good or bad choices. We both suffer under the curse of humanity.” 

Theo was focused so hard on what signor Vittozzi was saying that it left him little chance to reflect on how he felt. 

“And so we shall come back to your original question: are muggleborns inferior to purebloods? Objectively, the evidence would say not, but that hasn’t prevented the continuation of the belief amongst many pureblood families, has it? For some, they  _ believe it _ and therefore it is  _ true _ that they are superior to those associated with muggles and no evidence will convince them otherwise. For others, they will continue to believe it to be true until it no longer benefits them...”

It took Theo a few moments to realise that Signor was once again silently scrutinising him, possibly waiting for some sort of response. “I… I see,” he murmured hesitantly, his head still trying to absorb all that Signor had told him. 

The dance teacher’s expression softened with a look of understanding and he laid a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “You are growing up, Theodore,” he stated kindly, his Italian accent sounding surprisingly thicker at the soft words. “Blind faith is for children. It is by questioning your beliefs, confirming the values important to you, finding your view of the world, that you become a man.” 

Theo couldn’t repress a shiver despite the warmth of the studio and he looked at signor Vittozzi with a mild sense of despair. “But… but I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t know what to do!” 

“Do? Why do you have to do anything?” Signor replied, echoing Theo’s words back to him with the smallest hint of amusement. However, he quickly saw that the humour wasn’t appreciated and squeezed Theo’s shoulder with a more sympathetic expression on his face. “You cannot force an epiphany on your attitudes and beliefs, Theodore. It will take time to process your thoughts to a point where you are comfortable with what you believe. Any self-revelation that you do make need not require you to act like a completely different person. If you come to the conclusion that the differences in magical heritage don’t matter to you, it doesn’t require you to shout it aloud for everyone to hear - particularly given that you are a Slytherin. I would suggest that you follow the lead of Mister Davies: I believe you are aware of his views on blood.“

Theo felt his cheeks flush and he briefly wondered what Tam Davies and Signor had said to each other about him. He nodded. “Davies told me,” Theo admitted quietly. 

“And you had no idea before he spoke to you?”

“No, I just assumed he believed the same as the rest of our house,” Theo replied.

“Assumptions can be both a blessing and a curse,” Signor said, “but I suggest you use them to your advantage just like Mister Davies does. I also advise you to speak to him: he will understand what you are thinking more than I.” 

That significant conversation with Signor had taken place a week ago and Theo had yet to pluck up the courage to speak to Tam Davies. 

It had taken a few days for Theo to mull over everything that he’d found out from the different sources, but he surprised himself with how quickly he accepted that not only was his previous understanding of Pureblood supremacy embarrassingly  naïve, but also that he felt more and more certain that he was prepared to reject the notion altogether . Either it was true or it wasn’t; he couldn’t tolerate the idea of believing muggleborns to be inferior just because it suited him. He still needed to find out more about muggles, of course, to have a more informed opinion on them (though when he’d get the time to do so, he didn’t know) but his gut told him that they weren’t the disgusting, primitive vermin he’d been brought up to believe they were.

Signor may have stated that Theo need not  _ do  _ anything in regards to his newfound beliefs but Theo felt like Davies expected something of him whenever their eyes met in the Common Room, in the dance corridor or at the Slytherin table during mealtimes. Theo was careful to keep his gaze neutral whenever this happened so as not to give anything away to the older student. Theo may have found out the truth about blood supremacy but he didn’t appreciate the way Davies had just bombarded him with it. If Tam really wanted to know what Theo was thinking, he’d just have to bloody well ask him. 

Two days later, that was exactly what Davies did.

There was a strange sense of events repeating themselves as Davies took a seat at the same table Theo had been working at during their last conversation, causing Theo to look up from his potions essay. 

“You asked Granger for a book about muggles,” Davies stated curiously in place of a more traditional greeting. 

Theo glanced around the Common Room but, just like last time, no one appeared to be paying them the slightest bit of attention. “What of it?” Theo muttered quietly, returning his attention to his essay. 

The quill was suddenly plucked out of his hands as Davies muttered exasperatedly, “Don’t be a little shit, Nott. This isn’t a game.” 

Theo glared at him - the shock and awe from their last conversation having very much worn off. “You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. “ _ I’m _ the one that had my world wrenched out from underneath my feet.”

Davies’ face softened. “So, you’ve realised the truth, have you?” he mused, appraising Theo once again. He sighed when he saw the truth in Theo’s taut expression, and he looked a little abashed. “Look, I didn’t mean…” he began, running a hand through his hair as Theo waited for him to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say. “I didn’t know how you’d react; what conclusion you’d reach…” he said and Theo realised that despite his previous protestations, Tam had been worried that Theo would make things difficult for him. “I came at you too strong - both last time and tonight,” Davies continued. “It was pretty tactless and impulsive of me. Merlin, I’ve practically been a Gryffindor about all of this,” he muttered and then did something else very un-Slytherin, “I apologise, Nott.”

Theo held his gaze. He was still somewhat irritated with the way Davies had come in and shoved his nose into Theo’s values, but he recognised the gesture Tam was making with what appeared to be a sincere apology. Theo had always been a solitary figure but the last few days had left him feeling completely isolated from his Slytherin peers, knowing that they no longer shared a core belief. Given Davies’ popularity and the career he was likely to have, it made sense for Theo to try and find an ally in him even without their shared views on blood. Theo wasn’t sure it would ever come up but he even suspected that Davies would be happy to  _ discuss _ his thoughts on blood and muggles with Theo - another un-Slytherin trait.

He held his hand out to Davies and said, “Theo,” to imply that the apology had been accepted and it was beneficial to them both to start their acquaintance again.

Davies looked at his hand for a couple of seconds and then returned Theo’s gaze with understanding in his eyes and a smirk that was an expression much more befitting to a Slytherin. “Tam,” he said, shaking Theo’s hand firmly.

When their hands broke away, Tam gave him a nod and then stood to leave. “See you around, Theo,” he said, beginning to turn away, but then he paused and looked back. “I’m having another rehearsal with Granger tomorrow evening. You should come - I’m far too tall to partner her in the paired dances. I could give you some tips if you want - I’d like to see you do well in your exam. Six-thirty in Room Three.” 

Tam then nonchalantly walked off without a backwards glance and Theo strongly suspected that he did so intentionally. In fact, Theo wondered whether Tam’s whole reason for initiating the conversation had been to invite Theo to the practice. Thinking about Tam’s motives proved suitably distracting from what he’d actually proposed, but when Theo allowed himself to think about it, his stomach wavered nervously. 

_ Dancing with Hermione Granger _ . 

Surely, it was out of the question. It wasn’t that he found her particularly disgusting anymore (though it wasn’t a feeling that he could instantly overturn) but he was wary about getting to know her better. It was one thing for Theo to align himself with the most popular student in the school, but he had no desire to get better acquainted with Granger. His nerves quivered at that thought because he knew that wasn’t entirely true: he’d become distinctly drawn to her since the beginning of term because she’d contradicted everything he’d been taught about mudbloods, and apparently he had a perverse inclination to find out about something his father had warned him to keep away from. With his father’s reasoning now null and void, the main reason to avoid Hermione Granger was his fear of his house ostracising him if they ever found out. This wasn’t an inconsequential worry. Tam might claim to be unconcerned (even though Theo suspected a lot of that was bravado) but Davies was the most popular member of Slytherin. Theo held no such sway over the rest of his house and if they found out that he’d willingly spent time dancing with Granger (let alone that he thought Pureblood supremacy was crap) they’d make him regret it for years. Slytherins weren’t known for possessing a forgiving nature… Not only that but the girl in question seemed in the habit of attracting trouble. Tam might argue that it only made her more interesting but Theo quite liked his life to be drama-free. 

But… he couldn’t deny that he was  _ intrigued _ by the notion. It was only one rehearsal session after all. More than likely, they would find that they were too different and practising together was utterly unproductive. At least if he went he wouldn’t lose his new alliance with Tam.

Theo worried over his decision all night and into the next day. As six-thirty came closer, his already diminished levels of concentration declined even further. He retreated to his dormitory as the rest of the Third-year Slytherins went to dinner and stared at his neatly folded dancewear. Before he could change his mind, he took off his school robes and pulled on his dance clothes, and hurried up to the dance corridor, his heart pounding.

Tam and Granger were just about to enter the rehearsal room as he arrived, and he quickly tried to wipe away any evidence of his exertion and schooled his face into a casual expression before they noticed him. His footsteps gave away his presence and Tam looked over his shoulder at the noise, his face breaking into a genuine smile, which took Theo a little by surprise. Unsurprisingly, Granger’s expression was much more guarded. She chewed on her lip as he approached, before moving into the room and out of sight without a word. 

Theo paused at her actions and looked uncertainly at Tam, who shrugged. “She’s not sold on the notion of you being a decent human being yet,” he explained with a small smirk. “Just give her time to get used to you.”

He motioned for Theo to enter the room and he did so, feeling far more nervous than he’d anticipated: this felt like just as big a moment for him as it probably did for her, perhaps even more so. She’d already danced with Tam but this was brand new territory for him. 

Granger avoided his eye as they warmed up, which was fine by him as it was the first time Theo had danced in front of Tam and he wanted to impress the older student with his technique. It was actually quite calming to go over the exercises that he was so familiar with, and he was buoyed by Tam’s appreciative comments and minimal critiques. 

“Signor was right about you,” Tam said to Theo as they removed the balancing charm after their final barre exercise. “You  _ are _ good - at barre, at least. Let’s try some of the paired dances, see how you two get on together.” 

Theo and Granger locked gazes for the first time in the lesson and the significance of what he was there to do quickly rushed back at him. Her big brown eyes felt like they were piercing into his very soul, trying to find his worth.

“How about we start with the first minuet?” Tam suggested evenly, obviously sensing the tension in the room. The first minuet was the dance they had been taught at the very start of the year because it was easiest and didn’t require other pairs to be performed.

Granger had continued to pin Theo down with her intense gaze but she broke it after a deep breath and turned to Tam with a nod. “Alright,” she agreed, the first word Theo had heard her say all evening. 

Davies went to sort out the music and Granger turned back to Theo. She still looked a little apprehensive but there was also a hint of a challenge in the upwards tilt of her chin, just like when he’d walked in on her the last time - as though she was daring him to prove that he wasn’t like all the other Slytherins: daring him to touch her.

Theo held her gaze as he forced himself to take a step towards her, and then another, until he was alongside her. They both glanced down at their hands - so close but not quite touching, Theo’s heart was pounding so hard that he could hear the thudding echoing in his brain. The hand position in the minuet required the woman’s to rest lightly on the man’s as he delicately held her fingers at chest height slightly in front of them. It was considered impolite for the man to just grab the fingers of the lady he was dancing with, so Theo raised his hand into position and waited for her to place hers on top, his other hand slotting into place on the juncture of his hip. Theo attempted to look straight ahead of him but he was extremely aware of Granger standing so close to him that he could hear her breathing, and his waiting hand was still in his eyeline. He sensed and then saw her fingers appear above his hand. She hesitated for a moment and then lowered her hand onto his. 

He turned his head sharply at the contact and she stiffened next to him as he stared at their hands. 

“Surprised that my touch isn’t as disgusting as you thought?” she asked him sharply and he looked up to see her eyes narrowed at him, her jaw tight. 

“They’re warm,” he told her, a hint of surprise in his tone as he closed his fingers around hers more securely. “Daphne’s are always cold.” He had no real complaints about Daphne Greengrass being his usual partner for she was an intelligent and competent dancer. He was so used to the coolness of her fingers that he never even noticed it when they danced anymore, but the contrast with Granger’s had taken him by surprise. He was relieved to find that nothing about her touch repulsed him because although he’d told himself that he no longer believed muggleborns to be lesser than him, he’d been worried that an unconscious part of him still thought it was true. She was much warmer than Daphne and her skin wasn’t quite as soft, but apart from that it felt no different. 

Granger briefly glanced away, her cheeks turning pink and she seemed a little abashed. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, still not meeting his eye. “I shouldn’t presume to know you like that. After all, I never would have guessed you’d ask me for that book or want to rehearse with me... I’m sorry for judging you, Nott.” 

The music of the minuet started before Theo had the chance to respond, and he turned his attention to performing the steps correctly, starting with the opening bow and curtsey sequence. He released Granger’s fingers and bent forwards into the required elaborate bow as she dipped into a deep curtsey, but they had only just regained their starting positions when Tam stopped the music.

Theo looked over at him in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pair of such stiff dancers - you both look terrified of each other,” Tam said with a frown. He walked over to them both. “Look, I get it,” he said softly, laying a reassuring hand on their outer shoulders. “I know exactly who you both are and so the significance of this rehearsal isn’t lost on me. There’s going to be mistrust, but I’m pretty confident in saying that everyone who’s in this room is here because they want to be, right?” Theo and Granger looked at each other and then back to Tam and nodded. “Good. Let’s try the opening again and maybe this time you could make it more obvious through your faces and bodies that you actually like to dance.” 

They made it all the way through the minuet that time but Theo could tell without having to hear it from Tam that they were still too stiff and disjointed in their movements. Tam suggested that the first minuet was too easy, which gave them time to think of the situation rather than the steps, and so he moved them onto the polka next. 

The polka was a completely different type of dance both in terms of tempo and hold. He’d merely been alongside Granger in the minuet and they broke contact through most of the dance, but the polka required them to face each other and he had to put his hand on her back. It was awkward to be so close to her and he found it more comfortable to look over her shoulder than at her face. However, Tam’s plan of getting them to lose their awkwardness via the polka worked very quickly because the dance was so quick and technical with the footwork that Theo soon forgot who he was dancing with and treated Granger the same way he did Daphne. 

They took a quick break after successfully performing the polka through three times without any mistakes and Theo found himself lamenting the fact that the rehearsal would soon be over. Tam was a good instructor and Hermione was a perfectly adequate dancer, much better than he was expecting if he were honest, but the reason Theo was enjoying the dance session so much was because, after weeks of uncertainty, he finally felt that he could relax and be himself: he was doing something that he loved with people who knew about his newfound understanding of blood. 

He felt free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Keep safe everyone!


	5. Third Year - Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the delay in updating. There was a strange period of several months where I just had no motivation to continue with my current fics. I'm working to overcome that strange lull. Hope you enjoy the next installment.

Going into her third year at Hogwarts, Hermione knew that she was going to have an astonishing secret: Professor McGonagall had explained before the summer holidays that the only way she would be able to attend all of her desired classes was through  _ unusual _ means. She didn’t like keeping the time-turner a secret from Harry and Ron but she had promised the Deputy Headmistress that she wouldn’t tell them, and Hermione wasn’t going to forsake that solemn vow and let down her Head of House. 

She was roughly at the halfway point of Third Year and she had unexpectedly accumulated two more startling secrets. Her realisation that Professor Lupin was a werewolf had clicked into place in her mind so suddenly when performing her homework on the creatures that she had gasped. After confirming that the DADA professor’s illnesses always took place during the full moon and realising that Professor Lupin’s boggart was, in fact, the full moon and not a crystal ball like everyone had assumed, the secret gnawed away at Hermione’s stomach. She severely debated telling someone - perhaps a member of staff - but then she realised that Professor Dumbledore surely already knew and apparently he trusted that it was safe for Professor Lupin to teach them. Hermione watched her Defence professor closely for the next few weeks and she could find no fault in his character nor (possibly more importantly in her opinion) in his ability to teach his subject, and so she decided to keep Professor Lupin’s secret to herself. She just hoped that she would have no reason to regret that decision. 

Her third secret wasn’t really as astonishing as possessing a device that could turn back time or a werewolf for a teacher, but it was surprising in its own way: there were two members of Slytherin House that she could  _ almost _ describe as being her ‘friend’. 

Hermione found Tam Davies so unlike every other Slytherin she’d ever seen that, in truth, when you stripped away house allegiances it was more the age difference and his overall popularity that made their developing friendship so unlikely. Tam had laughed when she’d made an offhand comment about how unsuited he was to his house. “I might not extol the virtues of pureblood supremacy but I’m no less cunning or ambitious, Granger,” he told her with a trace of a smirk that was more befitting of those of his house. “My sole focus is earning a spot at a major magical dance company when I graduate from Hogwarts, and I’m not about to let anything stand in my way.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s a shame that my house has such a dark history because it completely overshadows the positive characteristics of Slytherins - yes, Granger, there  _ are _ good things about us,” he added with a faux sneer at the sceptical look on her face. He pondered her for a moment. “You know, while you are  _ obviously _ a Gryffindor,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes, “I reckon there are a few Slytherin traits within you too.” 

Hermione scoffed at that. “Really?” she asked disbelievingly. 

“You’re determined, aren’t you?” Tam explained.

Hermione considered it. “To a point,” she allowed after a few moments of reflection. She was determined but she wasn’t as interested in self-preservation as Slytherins were.

“And don’t tell me you’re not ambitious with all the studying you do,” he added. “It brought you to me, didn’t it - showing a willingness to form alliances to get where you want to go.” 

“In Gryffindor we call those friendships,” Hermione answered wryly. “And you were the one that approached me first, remember? I still don’t see what you get out of helping me.” 

Tam let out a slight laugh and held up a hand. “Ease back on your suspicions, Granger, I have no sinister nor manipulative plans for you. I already told you that I want to spend my time on dance in whatever form it takes. I don’t particularly seek anything in return for my coaching so perhaps this  _ is _ more like a friendship than a traditional Slytherin alliance.” 

While there might be a tentative label of friendship with Tam, Hermione was less sure where she stood with Nott. He was only marginally more talkative than he had been before their first private rehearsal together a couple of weeks ago, which meant that Hermione was having to observe him very closely in an attempt to figure out his thoughts and motivation. She was extremely keen to ask him questions because he had undoubtedly been through some sort of personal change of attitude to be dancing with and  _ touching  _ her, but she forced herself not to pry because she didn't want to scare him away with her intense inquisitiveness. 

She hadn't wanted to give him a chance when Tam had suggested Nott rehearse with them, and she would have refused had he not approached her beforehand with a baffling (but seemingly genuine) desire to find out about muggles. Hermione was incredibly apprehensive at the start of the rehearsal because she'd had too many experiences of the Slytherins in her year being deeply unpleasant towards her. Nott had never actually said anything to her in the past but he had laughed along with all of Malfoy and Parkinson's comments, and the expression on his face had clearly shown that he thought she was far beneath him. And, although his attitude had clearly changed once he'd walked in on her practice with Tam, she couldn't shake off the feeling (however ridiculous) that Nott was going to hurt her in some way. 

She spent the first half of their practice trying to ignore Nott’s presence but that wasn’t particularly easy with Tam giving Nott most of his attention, but Davies had never seen his fellow Slytherin dance before and Hermione tried to tune out the sound of his voice whenever he complimented Nott’s ability. Hermione already knew that Nott was good because she heard the praise every week from the Vittozzis, and she’d discreetly sneaked a few glances his way during classes when he’d started acting differently towards her, but hearing Tam praise him made her feel even more on edge. 

When the time came for them to practise the paired dances, Hermione’s heart was beating far more quickly in her chest than she would like as her anxiety levels rose, but she tried to portray that she was calm. However, seeing that Nott looked almost as tense and apprehensive as she felt helped her to give the Slytherin a chance. Her heart leapt up to her mouth when he reacted so quickly to her touch, but he seemed genuine in saying that the warmth of her hand took him by surprise. She’d glanced away from him and she saw that Tam was watching them closely in the mirror. Tam gave the slightest inclination of his head in Nott’s direction and Hermione understood what he was trying to tell her. Tam believed Nott’s change of heart was genuine. If that was true, Hermione could see how this was a very significant moment for Nott, and she felt guilty for being unwilling to allow him a chance to redeem himself for his previous behaviour. 

The first dance was awkward and stilted, but when Tam moved them on to faster, more intricate dances, Hermione soon found the dance steps flowing more smoothly between them and she quickly forgot that she had been nervous of dancing with Nott at all. He was much more competent than Neville and she found she didn’t have to stretch as much as she did to accommodate Tam’s superior height. There were a few niggles in each dance that they had to work on but by the end of the rehearsal, Hermione felt that she’d performed those paired dances better than she ever had before. She didn’t know Nott well enough to state confidently how he felt about their practice and his face didn’t alter much from its typical guarded or haughty expression, but there were moments in the polka and bourrée when he’d caught her eye and those serious orbs were suddenly bright and more expressive than she’d ever witnessed before. It had almost thrown her off balance. However, the reserved air was quickly back in place straight after and, if it hadn’t happened more than once, she would have thought she’d imagined it. 

Outside of their private rehearsing, Nott completely ignored her. Hermione didn’t mind. She was far too busy attending her many classes and completing all her homework; she didn’t have time for any drama that was caused by her ‘alliance’ with a Slytherin. She could also appreciate that while Tam’s level of popularity could possibly handle an association with her, Nott would face a huge amount of criticism from his house for willingly dancing with her. She doubted that the opinions of the Gryffindors would be much more favourable but she could hardly blame them if that turned out to be the case because she had been just as judgemental when presented with Nott’s altered behaviour. Harry and Ron still weren’t speaking to her and she could only imagine how badly they’d react to her spending time with Slytherins.  _ She _ might have been willing to give Tam and Nott a chance but she doubted that Harry would, and Ron certainly wouldn’t. So, although it gave her a small thrill to know that she had two secret almost-friends, if she actually allowed herself any time away from her workload to think on it, it just reminded her how isolated she really was. Luckily, her busy schedule didn’t really leave any time for socialising and, if she were honest with herself, she could barely spare the time for her weekly extra sessions with Tam and Nott. However, during that hour a week, she could forget about the extra strains in her life (no huge piles of homework, no friends that had shunned her, no escaped convicts trying to kill her best friend, no Signora belittling her efforts, no Neville to have to compensate for) and she could just enjoy dancing with people who were like-minded. It was a small sanctuary for her. 

“Signor has suggested that I teach you the Highland reel,” Tam told them at their next practice. He looked eager but a quick glance at Nott told Hermione that the younger Slytherin was as nonplussed about the reel as she was. “It’s not really taught any more because if the dancers aren’t in good enough shape then it looks awful - it’s very physically demanding,” Tam explained. “You two both got to the end of the jumps sequence in your first class so Signor reckons you’ve got the stamina.” Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question but Tam held his hand up to stop her. “The examiners don’t ever ask to see it but the Vittozzis can put you forward to show it to them if you’re good enough. It can get you a few bonus marks so it’s worth trying.” 

Hermione nodded, convinced by Tam’s justification for the added effort it would take to learn an extra dance even though she was particularly exhausted that day. Tam tried to move around which day of the week their practice was on because both she and Nott still preferred for it to be a secret from the other students. She had already done two extra hours that day with her time-turner and stayed up late the previous night to finish her homework on time. She also strongly suspected that she had the beginnings of a cold because her limbs ached more than normal, her throat was a little dry and her sinuses throbbed painfully whenever she bent her head forwards. The prospect of learning a supposedly-physical new dance worried her a little but she hoped that Tam had been over-exaggerating its difficulty. 

He had not. 

The reel seemed to consist almost exclusively of leaps and springs from foot to foot that very quickly sapped away at Hermione’s energy and left her legs burning. The only respite came when Hermione and Nott laid their arms forwards across each other’s waist and turned around each other for a few counts. 

“OK, that’s the first part,” Tam told them as they sucked in huge lungfuls of air, Hermione bent double as she lethargically massaged the backs of her calves.

“How much more is there?” gasped Nott, wiping a hand across his brow. 

“There are eight parts in total,” Tam admitted and Hermione let out a strangled gasp as she looked up at him dismay.

“ _ Eight? _ ” she repeated. 

“I told you it was a hard dance,” Tam replied with only a hint of sympathy. “You haven’t even covered thirty seconds of the choreography yet.” 

Hermione stared at him in disbelief as exhaustion and despair bubbled up inside her. She held a hand up to cover her eyes as tears started to sting and blur her vision. She couldn’t bear for either of the Slytherins to see her moment of weakness and she forced herself to calm down - becoming emotional was only going to make her more tired anyway. 

The second part of the reel was just as brutal as the first but contained slightly more intricate footwork that Hermione struggled to get right. Not only that but her arms sooned matched the aching of her legs after prolonged periods of holding them high above her head. 

“You’re doing really well,” Tam told them encouragingly. “I said it’s a killer, didn’t I? Let’s try it with the music a couple of times and then we’ll call it a day.” Hermione tried not to look too relieved at his words and a picture of all the work she still had to complete loomed in the back of her mind. She attempted to push it away, not wanting it to intrude on her precious dance time. 

They soon found that the music was a fair bit faster than they had been rehearsing to and they struggled to keep the jumps and springs in time. Hermione realised a split second after it happened that she had turned to face the wrong diagonal but it was too late to stop Nott’s toes making sharp contact with the top of her foot as he kicked it out like the jump dictated him to. Hermione gasped at the impact and wrapped her hand around her injured foot to try and contain the pain as she attempted to balance on one leg. 

The music stopped abruptly and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, highly embarrassed by her mistake and reluctant to look at either of the Slytherins in her humiliation. A hand reached out to steady her and she heard Tam ask, “How bad is it, Granger?” 

She grimaced and then concentrated on keeping any wobbles out of her voice. “It hurts but I don’t think it’s broken.” 

“I’ll run a diagnostic spell just to make sure,” Tam replied. Hermione cracked open her eyes and watched him move her fingers off her foot before tapping the injured area three times and muttering an incantation under his breath. Her skin glowed brown for a moment and then faded. “You’re right - no break,” he confirmed, “but it’ll bruise badly. There’s always some salve in the store cupboard. I’ll go grab some. Hang on.” 

Tam gave her a reassuring tap on her calf and then walked out of the room. Through the pain, Hermione suddenly became aware that she had her arm wrapped over the back of Nott’s neck to steady herself and his hand was on her lower back. Even though they had now danced closely together a few times, it felt very intimate. In her attempt to put distance between them, she lost her balance and would’ve landed rather inelegantly on her bottom had Nott’s hands not caught her. He lowered her gently to the ground, even more humiliated and still wanting to cry as her cheeks flamed red. She buried her face in her hands but then became aware of him sitting next to her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, making her look over at him in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous - I’m the one that turned the wrong way,” she pointed out. “It’s my fault I got hurt, not yours.” 

His lips twitched sideways as he briefly showed a troubled expression. “No, not about that - although I still feel bad for hurting you - but I was apologising for…” He struggled to find the words and then motioned his hand over his shoulder. “...For the past, I suppose.” At Hermione’s confused expression he explained, “Before, you apologised for judging me even though a few weeks ago your assessment would have been truthful. The view  _ I _ had of you and those like you, however, was inaccurate for years. I’m sorry that I judged you.” 

Hermione tried not to gape at him, more than a little shocked how the world had turned on its head: her two best friends were no longer speaking to her and here she was, sat on the floor, with a Slytherin who was making a mature apology the likes of which she wasn’t sure Ron nor Harry were even capable of. To her shame, it all became too much and tears fell from her eyes before she could stop them. A sob escaped her chest, immediately followed by another, as all the exhaustion, stress and pain bubbled up from where she’d been repressing it.

Nott looked almost comically terrified at her reaction. “Granger, I didn’t - I don’t - I…” 

Hermione shook her head and waved her hand at him. “It’s not you,” she reassured him, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s a lot of things.” He didn’t look at all reassured. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asked tightly.

Hermione wiped her eyes, her breaths still hitching unevenly in her throat. “My bag - there’s a handkerchief in it.”

Nott looked only too pleased to be given a reason to move away from her and he hurried over to where she’d placed her belongings. He returned at once, carefully depositing her bag in front of her. Desperate as she was to compose herself, Hermione sorted through the contents of her bag agitatedly and snatched the handkerchief out. In her haste, she failed to notice that something else had been partly dislodged from the bag until she had momentarily lowered the soft blue cotton from her eyes in order to blow her nose. The sight of the time-turner dangling over the side of her satchel caused her heart to momentarily freeze in alarm, but then, even more worryingly, she saw that Nott’s attention had been caught by the device and his fingers were reaching out to touch it. 

“No!” she said sharply. Nott looked over at her, evidently surprised by her tone, but his fingers stayed merely resting against the hourglass. “It- it used to belong to my grandmother,” she lied quickly. “It’s very delicate.” 

Nott held her gaze for a few moments. She tried not to squirm at the intensity of it but she could feel her cheeks flooding with colour once again. Could he tell she was lying? Probably. She’d never been all that good at it and she knew that neither her lie nor the execution of it had been very convincing. 

Nott’s eyes dropped back to the time-turner and he gently lifted his fingers away from the device. “Forgive me,” he apologised politely, but his eyes were fixed on the talisman. 

Thankfully, the sound of the door opening broke Nott’s concentration as he glanced over to where Tam was jogging in with a glass jar clutched in his hand. With Nott looking elsewhere, Hermione took the opportunity to carefully tuck the time-turner out of sight again.

* * *

Hermione looked down at the chapter she’d been asked to study for her Arithmancy homework and fought very hard to resist the urge to burst into tears. This couldn’t be the next part of their course, surely? The formulas involved were far beyond what they had covered so far. She looked down at the note she’d made on her parchment of the page number she needed to read from, and checked that it matched with the book. It did. Her heart sank and a tear slipped from her eyes as an increasingly familiar sense of being overwhelmed threatened to swallow her up. 

She sniffed loudly and brushed the tear away. There were still a few minutes until the library would close. If she was lucky, she’d find someone from her Arithmancy class between the shelves so she could check that she had copied down the correct page number and she therefore wouldn’t waste her time reading and trying to understand something she didn’t have to. She didn’t have Arithmancy tomorrow but she’d have little time in the evening to complete her homework when she had ballet class and other work to do too. She quickly tidied her belongings away and held the books that didn’t fit into her bag against her chest as she glanced around for any familiar faces from Arithmancy. 

Unfortunately, row after row proved disappointing. The library was normally full of the Ravenclaws from her year but it was typical that when she needed to talk to one of them there wouldn’t be any in sight. Another tear escaped and quickly trickled down her cheek. With a feeling of inevitable disappointment, she tried the tables at the rear of the library and came across a familiar head of dark hair.

“Nott,” she whispered eagerly and hurried over to him. He glanced up at her with an expression of faint surprise and put down his quill as she approached. She could see him taking in her dishevelled appearance but she was too relieved to have found a fellow Arithmancy student to care about how scruffy she looked. “Can you remember what page number Professor Vector wanted us to read from? The figure I copied down takes me near the end of the book and I’m sure she can’t possibly want us to study the material back there yet.” Her voice sounded a little hysterical and she cleared her throat in an attempt to get herself back under control. It had been just over a week since she’d broken down in front of him in their ballet session and she had no intention of repeating that embarrassing experience. 

Nott reached for a sheet of parchment under the one he was working on. “Page two hundred and seventy-eight,” he told her and Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“I had  _ seven _ hundred and seventy-eight,” she explained, depositing the books in her hands on the table so she could retrieve the Arithmancy tome from within her bag. She flicked through the pages until she came to the right section and then skimmed through it. It was longer than she’d hoped for but at least she should be able to understand it. With a sigh, she attempted to stuff the book back into her satchel a little too forcefully and the weight from her shoulder suddenly disappeared as her bag split open and the contents spilled onto the floor. Letting loose a soft cry of despair, Hermione ducked down to rectify the damage that had been done to her possessions. The first few books she picked up were fine but she soon saw that one of her ink pots had smashed, soaking the parchment closest to it and staining a few pages in a couple of her set texts. “Oh no,” she moaned wearily, unable to believe her misfortune. 

“Here, allow me,” she heard Nott say and an ink-splattered book was suddenly plucked out of her hand. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head to discreetly wipe away the tears that once again threatened to fall. “I, er, think there’s a charm that we could use that removes liquids but I don’t remember what it is,” she told him, her voice shaking with repressed emotion. 

“Tergeo,” Nott told her and then demonstrated the charm, siphoning off the wet ink from the pages of her Transfiguration textbook. 

“Oh,” she said, momentarily distracted by the sight of the new spell at work. “Will that work on my homework too?” she asked, glancing down to the ink-drenched parchment that she’d intended on handing in during tomorrow’s Ancient Runes lesson.

“It’ll take off the wet ink but it might take some of the dry too,” he replied, watching her a little warily.

Hermione sighed and nodded. “Could you have a go for me? I’ll have to rewrite it anyway but the more I can see the easier it’ll be.” 

“Here,” Nott said, pointing his wand at the wet pieces of parchment and repeating the incantation. The glistening black ink disappeared quickly and, as far as Hermione could see, only a few of her written words were erased along with it. “I can teach you if you want,” Nott offered after Hermione thanked him. “There’s no wand action involved but the pronunciation needs to be precise.”

She managed to remove a large ink stain from the floor on her third attempt and then promptly sneezed four times in a row, each one becoming louder and higher in pitch. 

Nott frowned at her as she retrieved a clean tissue from her pocket “I see you’re still unwell. Did you not take a remedy from Madam Pomfrey?” 

“I did,” Hermione replied, stuffing the tissue deep into her pocket again. “I took three. I’m not sure if this is a new cold or just the same one lingering on.”

Nott was still looking at her with a disapproving expression. “I’m not particularly surprised. You need to give yourself a break - you work too hard.” 

Hermione forced herself to smile weakly. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Everyone gets a little run down this time of year.” 

“But when they take something like Pepper-Up potion they get better,” Nott pointed out. “If you don’t start taking better care of yourself, you’re going to crack.”

Hermione shook her head, a little bemused to even be having this conversation with the Slytherin. “I’ve got too much to do, I haven’t got time to relax.” 

Nott’s eyes dropped temporarily to her neck. “Actually, I’d say time is something you  _ do _ have.” 

Hermione stared at him, frozen in place by the meaning behind his words. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said eventually in a forcefully confused voice as she averted her attention to repairing her split bag.

“I was referring to your time-turner,” Nott replied calmly.

Hermione accidentally burnt a hole in her bag at the abruptness of his words and she quickly looked around in case anyone had overheard. Fortunately, they were completely alone.

“I - “ she began, rapidly trying to think of some plausible excuse but Nott interrupted.

“Don’t bother trying to deny it, Granger. I didn’t know what it was when I saw it but I knew by the runes that it didn’t come from your muggle family. It took a little bit of research but I know what I saw now,” Nott stated but Hermione was still scrambling to rectify the situation. He must have noticed the panic on her face because he said, “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone. I wasn’t going to say anything to you but you appear to be stubbornly ignoring the negative effect it’s having on your health.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” she insisted hotly. “It’s just a persistent cold.” 

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re using the time-turner to take more classes so, not only are you actually living longer days by repeating those hours again to attend the lessons, you have much more homework than everyone else and no extra time to complete it all.”

“I manage,” she said tightly but she could feel her emotions rising upwards again.

“The very fact that you haven’t responded to the remedies shows that your body is telling you otherwise,” Nott argued. “Something needs to change - even if it’s just redoing part of your Saturday afternoon so you can go and sleep in your dormitory once in a while.” 

Hermione gaped at him. “I-I couldn’t possibly!” she spluttered. “It’s not a toy, Nott. I’m to use it for my studies only.” 

“Well, your studies seem to have driven you to the brink of a breakdown,” he said calmly. “If you’re not going to take some hours for yourself then I recommend you drop something before you really do crack from the exhaustion.” 

Hermione was so shocked by his line of thinking that she actually leaned away from him. “Drop something?” she repeated, sounding almost scandalised. “I can’t just  _ drop _ one of my subjects.” 

“If you’re taking every elective there is, then of course you can,” Nott replied and then narrowed his eyes. “You’re  _ not _ taking all of them, are you?” Hermione pursed her lips together and Nott’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Granger,  _ why, in Salazar’s name _ , are you taking Muggle Studies?!” 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed at his disbelieving tone. “It’s very interesting to hear about them from a magical perspective. It gives me an insight into the viewpoint of witches and wizards who are from a purely magical background.”

Nott didn’t look convinced. “It’s a waste of your time and energy, Granger.”

“No, what would be a waste is me quitting now when I’ve put the time and effort in for half a year,” she argued. “I can’t just walk away with nothing.”

“What about your other subjects: do you enjoy all of them?” he questioned. 

“I - ” she began and then balked.

He noticed at once. “Which one don’t you like - Care of Magical Creatures?”

“I would  _ never _ drop Care of Magical Creatures,” she vowed passionately. 

“Why? It’s terrible. After Draco nearly got killed, we spent an entire term tending to  _ flobberworms _ , Granger. I’ve barely learnt a thing in that class that I couldn’t have just read in a book,” Nott declared, suddenly sounding more like a Slytherin than she’d ever heard before - not that he’d spoken to her very much until now.

“Professor Hagrid is my friend,” she told him coldly. 

He watched her carefully for a moment and then said, “That doesn’t qualify him as being a competent teacher.” Hermione balled her hands up into fists, too worked up to feel anything but a heartfelt defence of Hagrid. Nott seemed to notice though because he continued, “So I guess you aren’t fond of Divination.” 

Hermione simply made a noncommittal noise in her throat and shrugged her shoulders. “It all seems very imprecise to me,” she replied diplomatically. 

“From what I’ve heard, you either have the gift for Divination or you don’t,” Nott told her. “And if you  _ don’t _ then there’s not much point studying it, is there?” 

Hermione set her jaw stubbornly. “I’m not a quitter.” 

Nott’s eyes narrowed on her once again but she refused to look away. “No. I suspect that’s the Gryffindor in you.” 

She could tell that he thought that she was being ridiculous and the possibility that he might be right, that she was making emotional decisions instead of rational ones, was something she refused to consider in case it made her even more upset. 

“Well, you know what I think your two options are,” he told her, handing back the book he’d been holding onto for no apparent reason. “Either you free up your school schedule or you find a way to give yourself more time to catch up on some rest, and until you make a choice, I won’t be taking part in an extra dance session with you and Davies. I don’t see the benefit for either of us in rehearsing with you in your current state.” He muttered a charm and flicked his wand at his belongings so that they tidied themselves neatly into his bag, before giving her a curt nod and walking away without another word, leaving Hermione to gape at his retreating figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Fingers crossed it won't be such a long wait before an upload next time.
> 
> Keep safe everyone.
> 
> Red


End file.
